


Ten Year Drag

by meagainstmeagainstyou



Series: Silhouettes [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Bandom Big Bang 2012, Cheating, Community: bandombigbang, F/M, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meagainstmeagainstyou/pseuds/meagainstmeagainstyou
Summary: "You win this round, but if you don't move in the next ten minutes I'm sleepingonyou.""Wouldn't be the weirdest thing you've done on top of me.""Wooooow," Gerard says with a shocked laugh and a matching expression.





	Ten Year Drag

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted years ago for Bandom Big Bang 2012 under my old pen name on my dead LJ, thebigmachines.
> 
> Some updates have been made between the original version and this version, so if you read this originally back in 2012, some things have changed. Not much, though :)

They're only two weeks deep into touring and Frank is already out of food. Even though the guys give him total reign of the mini fridge whenever they're out on the road (mainly because Frank doesn't believe in food with preservatives), the fucker is so damn small that it might as well not even be there. In the grand scheme of food storage, this bastard is molecular. He's pretty sure that his dogs have left behind coils of shit that would dwarf this pathetic excuse for a refrigerator.

He isn't sure why he's suddenly so pissed off about its size when the capacity has nothing to do with him being bad at rationing and everything to do with him being an idiot. One would think that someone as seasoned at touring like Frank wouldn't be dumb enough to forget that the fridge generator turns off whenever the bus isn't running. One show in Chicago and an entire stock of ruined food later, Frank is paying the price of his stupidity in the worst possible way.

There is at least solace in knowing that he has three days until the next show to rectify the issue. Even more comforting is that one of those days is going be a hotel night since it won't take them three days to complete a nine-hour trip. This is primarily because Trent is the coolest and most efficient bus driver in existence, and one of the chillest dudes ever. It's a shame he won't be going with them to Japan and Europe, but they'll be reunited with him in March, so there's that at least.

Frank's stomach makes an obnoxious sound that so graciously reminds him of his predicament. Rolling his eyes, he thinks _**fine asshole**_ , and stands from his place at the kitchenette table to make his way to the bunks.

He immediately plops down in front of Gerard's and grins at the sign taped to the top of it that reads FIGHTING A SEA SERPENT BBL. There are images in Frank's head of Gerard dressed up like some kind of Bizarro Aquaman and he wonders what kind of super powers Gerard could have, all just to receive yet another disapproving noise from his innards. This grumbling routine is already old news, so he rips back the privacy curtain as violently as possible in an attempt to be more startling.

No such luck - Gerard is used to Frank's impromptu bunk visits and doesn't even flinch at the intrusion. Keeping his eyes trained on the book clutched in his hands, he asks, "Did you have a big steaming pile of illiterate for breakfast or just forget how to knock?"

Frank responds with an impressive belch and follows it with, "Do you have any food?"

"That would depend on the context you're asking me in."

"It actually just depends on if you have food or not."

Gerard sighs. He's seconds away from completely derailing the entire conversation because Gerard has this complex where he can't answer simple questions without turning them into Plato's Cave. Frank doesn't get the digression he's waiting for, but the side of Gerard's mouth twitches and he replies, "There's Ramen in the cabinet above the sink."

"Is there chicken flavor?"

"There is chicken flavor."

"Sweet action," says Frank. "So can I call you Party Poseidon from now on?"

Still smiling but not looking up, Gerard gives Frank a friendly pat on the head and pulls his curtain shut.

 

***

 

Toronto comes and goes faster than expected. Since touring won't kick back up until January, Frank suddenly realizes that he has absolutely nothing to do for the first time in months. He'd officially passed on The Crew to worthy hands a few weeks ago since he couldn't balance the workload anymore, and everybody he knew was with family for the holidays. He ends up being a lot more okay with the lack of productivity than he'd originally thought.

A few uneventful nights and two family Christmases later, he's standing outside on his back porch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, freezing his balls off and furiously trying to finish smoking. Just as he starts getting irritated at the sound of his own teeth chattering, his cell phone offers a welcome distraction by buzzing against his leg. He retrieves it from his pocket and is pleasantly surprised to see that he has a message from Gerard (filed under 'Party Poseidon' because it's still clever).

_All these bitches wanna lick my ice cream._

Frank laughs and stamps out his cigarette to go inside, keying a response on the way in. **_Gross?_** he texts back.

_How's Jersey?_

**_Cold, how's California?_ **

_Crowded. I'm staying with Mikey and Alicia Mon-Wed next week. You should cramp our style._

**_Word, let me know when to come by. And tell Mikey he can eat a bag of dicks for not texting me back._ **

 

***

 

"YAY!"

Alicia launches out of the apartment and wraps herself around Frank tight enough to knock the breath out of him. He lets out a choking sound and squeezes her back, half because he's missed her just as much and half because she's about to send both of them plummeting to the floor.

"I missed your effing face off," Alicia happily squeaks as they pull apart and go inside. "Don't ever go three months without seeing me again, 'kay? It hurts me on the inside."

"Why don't you ever glomp me like that when I come home?" Mikey asks as he appears from the kitchen.

Alicia huffs like she's just been insulted. "Frank is my fave, _duh_."

Mikey and Frank hug briefly. "Yeah, well, he was my fave first, so neener neener."

"If this is some creepy attempt to score a threeway, it's seriously not working," Frank interrupts.

"Damn it," Alicia sighs, "It'll have to be Ray, then."

"Where's Gee?"

Mikey nods toward the hallway behind him. "Guest bed. Said to wake him up when you got here."

"On it," Frank announces, already halfway down the hall.

He reaches the guestroom and opens the door as silently as possible, slowly poking his head inside. Gerard is sprawled on his stomach with his feet hanging off the edge of the mattress, utterly dead to the world as Frank sneaks over to the opposite side of the bed to grab an unused pillow and hoist it above his head. Tightening his grip, he brings it down as hard as he can across Gerard's back with a heavy THUNK.

"Fucking ow," Gerard garbles as he turns his head to squint in Frank's general direction. "I hope you wake up on fire. Just so you know."

"Mikey said you wanted to be woken up when I got here. You're welcome."

"Sweet," Gerard groans, burying his face back into his pillow and muttering, "Five minutes."

They all go out to dinner and return to the apartment to spend the rest of the evening watching recorded episodes of 'The Walking Dead.' The only thing that would make the night even better would be for Ray and Christa to come over, but they're spending all their time with family until the tour kicks back up. Frank texts Ray to tell him that he is missed and to give Christa a big squeeze on Frank and the Ways' behalf. Ray texts back a few minutes later to say much of the same thing.

"I miss Toro," Frank declares, "Even though that bastard totally sold his soul to the Devil for his shreducation."

"No doubt," Gerard agrees. "The Daily Mail already knew that, though."

"Maybe one of us could send an anonymous letter so they can do a cover story about the new album," Alicia suggests, donning news anchor seriousness to her voice as she adds, "Emo death metal band spreading the word of Satan to impressionable youth through subliminal messaging!"

"Don't hate," Gerard says flatly. "We spent a lot of money on those."

"As tasty as this conversation is, I think I'm gonna call it a night," Mikey yawns as he stands up and turns to his wife. "You gonna hang?"

"Just until this episode is over," Alicia says with a sweet smile, the two exchanging a brief peck on the lips before Mikey says his goodnights to everyone and departs to the master bedroom. Gerard and Frank peer pressure Alicia into watching an additional episode before she finally calls it quits and hugs them goodnight.

Not too long after Alicia goes to bed, Gerard rubs his eyes tiredly and asks, "What time is it?"

Frank checks his phone. "Half past three."

Gerard hmm's, grinning up at him. "You're staying, right?"

"The night? Dunno. I didn't really plan that far ahead."

"You might as well. I think they kind of expected you would, anyway."

"Probably. Sounds good to me."

The opening credits of the season finale flash across the screen. Gerard and Frank are hanging onto consciousness by a string, slumped next to each other on the couch in an easy silence.

"You can have the guest bed if you want."

Frank turns his head and smirks. "Thank you?"

Gerard snickers. "You're welcome?" He begins trying to shove Frank onto the floor. "Move, fucker, you're on my bed."

"I'm...sorry?" Frank laughs as Gerard continues his half-assed attempt at pushing him off the sofa. When his feeble efforts still have no payoff, Gerard sighs and gives up, returning to his original slouched position on the other side of the couch.

"You win this round, but if you don't move in the next ten minutes I'm sleeping _on_ you."

"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing you've done on top of me."

"Wooooow," Gerard says with a shocked laugh and a matching expression. "Should I be worried that you think about me naked? I feel like I should be and it's just not happening."

"That's because you're partially in a coma. We should've gone to bed, like, two hours ago."

"We should get on that."

"We really should," Frank whole-heartedly agrees. "I just can't go to sleep until I lovingly masturbate to these sticky pictures I've kept of you, so you can either go to bed where it's safe or stay out here and let things get weird."

Gerard starts pretending to projectile vomit. Frank joins in and they pretend to projectile vomit on each other until a very grouchy Mikey Way stumbles into the room to demand that everybody stop pretending to puke and go to bed.

 

***

 

The following months are a vague blur of work. Somewhere in between touring Japan and Europe they manage to tape and release a third music video, and Frank can't help but wonder where the fucking time goes. How three months had managed to pass without him noticing is more than a little mind blowing. Even still, it's nice to be busy and back in his element, and it especially feels good to be back in the States. He certainly appreciates not having to agonize over wall adapters or if England is going to let him make international calls that day. He lingers on this gratitude as he takes the time to check his email and catch up with some friends from back home.

At least until he jumps six feet out of his own skin when Gerard throws back his bunk curtain.

"Do you have a fucking death wish?" Frank hisses. "Jesus."

"Double your dosage and CTFO. Here," Gerard says as he reaches in his pocket and very ungracefully tosses Frank's iPod at him.

Frank laughs and picks it up. "Neat, I was wondering where this piece of shit got to."

"I borrowed it last night," Gerard admits. "I was gonna leave a note, but I've always secretly wanted you to die in your sleep, so I didn't." 

"It's been so great talking to you," Frank gibes, pulling his curtain shut.

Gerard opens it again. "We should really stop meeting like this."

 _"Oh, really?"_ Frank asks in a high-pitched voice, then adds normally, "Motherfucker. I can't believe you stole my iPod and didn't say anything. I had to resort to Youtube videos on my phone like some kind of fucking animal. For two hours."

"Woe to the people of the Iero Republic," Gerard proclaims with a quick roll of his eyes. "You fucking drama queen."

"Don't patronize me, you dick," Frank warns half seriously. "Just because you brought it back doesn't negate the fact that you took it to begin with. You should be tonguing my asshole so I don't jump on your head and kill you." He makes stabbing motions in the air to emphasize his point.

Gerard raises an eyebrow. "Tonguing your asshole?"

"Sick," Mikey offers as he passes through the bunks to the kitchenette.

"Frank started it."

"What. The fuck. EVER," Frank splutters. "You will rue this day, sir. Trust."

When they wrap up soundcheck at the venue a few hours later, Trent announces that he plans to make a quick run to Taco Bell and asks if anybody wants anything while he's there. Never one to pass up an opportunity for retaliation, Frank announces to the room, "Yo, if anybody but Gerard wants food, I'm buying."

" _Bitch_ ," Gerard barks from behind him somewhere, "Shut your whore mouth and get me some Fourth Meal."

 

***

 

Later that night as Frank settles in for bed in his bunk, he takes out his iPod and starts scanning through his playlists for the one marked with a bunch of Z's in the title. As he's thumbing through them he comes across one that he doesn't remember making entitled "Songs NOT to Give Head To."

He grins to himself, muffling his laugh at the first track ('She Broke My Dick' by All). Frank thinks he hears Gerard snickering in the bunk across from him but chooses not to say anything. He plugs in his headphones and falls asleep in the middle of the third song.

 

***

 

Frank plunks Gerard's iPod on the table at breakfast in Seattle two days later. Gerard nods in acknowledgement and picks it up, surfing through it until he lands on the new playlist that Frank has made for him.

"Unicorn Blowjob," he reads aloud with an approving tone. "Excellent, are magical woodland creatures involved?"

"Obviously," Frank validates as he attempts to steal his fellow guitarist's coffee out of his hand.

Ray manages to keep it out of Frank's grasp and gently threatens, "I will so seriously break both of your legs with your own face."

"Sieg heil," laughs Frank as he steals Gerard's instead, who pretends not to notice as he answers a text on his phone. Mikey watches intently and does that weird eyebrow thing that the entire Way family has mastered from years of practice. Maybe that could be one of Gerard's super powers for fighting evil sea monsters.

"Do you plan on ordering your own shit?" Mikey asks, fingers curling protectively around his own mug like it's about to stand up and walk away.

"Sure don't," Frank says. He swallows a large gulp of Gerard's coffee and winces when he downs mostly creamer. He scrunches his face and stares into the cup, revering it with slight fear.

"Freeloader."

"Harsh, MJ," Frank chides with an exaggerated sulk. "You know I can't help myself. I'm in my disease state."

"I'm gonna smoke," Gerard chimes in, putting on his sunglasses. He catches Frank staring at him hopefully and drawls, "Don't be lookin' at my treats."

Frank points a finger at him. "Listen, slut - "

"Fifteen minutes, ladies," Trent suddenly butts in from behind a newspaper at the end of the table.

Frank decides that he wants one of Gerard's cigarettes more than the milky clusterfuck that fucker calls coffee and gets up to follow suit. He manages to score a piece of Ray's toast when he isn't looking on the way out.

 

***

 

The show that night goes off without a hitch, all of them piling back into the bus once it's over. Frank is itching for a laundry opportunity sometime in the near future; all his clothes smell as bad as Gerard's and his pits smell even worse. He spends a few minutes in the pygmy-sized bathroom wiping himself down with a wet washcloth in an attempt to dilute the evening's stench as much as possible. He doesn't feel as clean as he would like by the end of it, but it's better than nothing.

Once he's finished he pulls on the cleanest clothes he can find and makes for the lounge. Gerard is lying face up on one of the couches texting while the opening credits to the original 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' are playing on the television. Frank walks over and lies on his back on top of him, effectively knocking Gerard's phone out of his hand so that it thuds onto the floor.

"No, yeah, I was totally done talking."

"What's your favorite sex position?" asks Frank thoughtfully.

"Missionary," Gerard manages amidst his squirming. "You're doing it wrong." He struggles for a new position under Frank and can't seem to decide on a comfortable one. "Jesus, you ever heard of diet soda?"

"Ow, my feelings," Frank says blandly. "Wanna hug it out?"

"Well I'm apparently not going anywhere, so whatever tingles your jingles."

Frank cackles and slips into the little space that's left on the couch, still partially laying on Gerard as he rests his head on the other's chest. "Haven't done this in awhile," the singer notes with a yawn, loosely wrapping an arm around Frank's back.

"Right? Fuckin’ old school."

"Yup."

They watch the movie like this for a long time. Frank realizes that this is the sort of cognizance he's been lacking lately, the familiarity of it almost lulling him to sleep. He tilts his head up and watches Gerard's eyes follow what is happening on the screen, his shock of red tresses brighter than ever from the touch up he applied yesterday. Frank and Ray taunted him endlessly for the entire half-hour that the dye was in his hair ("Dude, I think your neck is shitting blood!"), and when Ray referred to him as Gerard 'Sanitary Napkin' Way, the comment inevitably spawned a chorus of imitation puke noises that went on way longer than was really necessary. According to Mikey those noises are just as annoying at three in the afternoon as they are at three in the morning.

"Frank," beckons a hazy voice from somewhere. There is a sharp poking sensation in Frank's ribs and he blinks a few times.

"What?"

"Hey," Gerard laughs. "Where'd you go just now?"

"Dunno," Frank confesses, smirking as he abruptly pushes Gerard off the couch. There is a blank look on his face when Gerard lands on the floor, like he can't believe that he actually fell for that shit after all this time. Frank guffaws loudly and clutches his stomach, utterly pleased with himself.

"Rude," Gerard eventually concludes. "Hey sweet, my phone's still down here."

"That's for the gratuitous swipe at my sexual prowess," Frank says, rolling onto his stomach and peeking over the edge of the sectional. "You know I've got game. You were there."

"Yeah," Gerard counters with a small smile, phone already back in his hands. "Once."

"Not for lack of trying, you fucking prude," Frank shoots back, earning an abrupt laugh from Gerard on the floor.

"Maybe if you weren't constantly trying to feel me up in a room full of people, I would’ve been more agreeable." Gerard sets his phone on his stomach as he goes on nostalgically, "It was kind of endearing, though, the way you grabbed my shit that one time and were all - " he droops his eyes and pretends to be drunk, " _Ahwannablowyou._ "

Frank buries his face into his hand, quaking with laughter as he peeks over the couch again. "The...heart wants what it wants?"

"If you could tell your heart to chill out in regards to my crotch, that would be great."

"I'll schedule a meeting with it next week."

"Sweet."

"Your crotch, I mean. My heart's a tough negotiator."

Gerard pfft's but smiles in spite of himself. "I made you a playlist, by the way. The title was too long so I had to write it on a piece of paper."

"Nice. I'll scope it before I go to sleep."

They finish 'Massacre' and make it halfway through 'Creepshow' before both of them call it a night. Frank remembers to fish his iPod out from under his pillow and unfolds the piece of notebook paper wrapped around it. He grins at Gerard's chicken scratch title written there and climbs into his bunk, settling in for "Songs I Would Masturbate To (While Thinking About Myself)."

 

***

 

If Frank's mother could see him now she would probably start crying and do the weird mom hug that lasts too long. He officially has an entire suitcase full of clean laundry, a feat that he wishes she could be here to see because she totally isn't going to believe him when he tells her over the phone tomorrow. He considers taking a picture to hoard as proof for the next time he sees her.

He'd been close to pissing himself with glee when he discovered coin operated washers and dryers in the lobby as he and Mikey hoofed it up to their room. He decides to wash ALL of his clothes (not just SOME of his clothes) for a change and proudly slam-dunks his accomplishment back into his luggage when he's finished. He feels entitled to a glittery "well done!" sticker somewhere on his shirt but can't think of anybody who would have one to give to him. He makes a note to buy glittery stickers that say "well done!" the next time he thinks about it, then ultimately nixes the idea when he realizes that he's almost thirty and probably can't get away with shit like that anymore. He sulks for a moment and steps outside to smoke.

His phone goes off in his pocket as soon as he lights up and fills the quiet evening air with Mikey's ringtone. Retrieving it, he accepts the call and raises it to his ear.

"What are you wearing?" he asks seductively.

"Some kind of tentacle," Mikey says without missing a beat. "Not really sure what that's about, though. Anyway, I was calling to tell you that Ray needs to switch rooms with you because we have unfinished business in 'Primal Rage' for the Sega Genesis. Is that cool with you, or do I need to worry about waking up in a bathtub full of ice with stitches where my kidneys should be?"

Nodding his head, Frank exhales and tells him, "The black market is at an economic standstill from the recession, so your kidneys are safe for another night. Good luck on your 16-bit grudge match."

"Many thanks, hombre."

"No problem. Just set my stuff next to the door and I'll come grab it after I finish this cigarette."

"Will do. Bye."

"Bisexual."

He hangs up before Mikey can offer his rebuttal and sends a text message to Gerard.

**_Just heard that I'm your new tenant. No "Single White Female" shit this time, Kosher?_ **

As he finishes his smoke and stubs it out, he gets a reply: 

_Balls. This totally impedes my prospects of wearing your skin as a mask. Sad face._

Frank sniggers and goes inside with his suitcase wheeling along behind him on the way to the elevators. When he makes it to the third floor he stops by 306 to pick up his bag, he catches Ray and Mikey in an argument of epic proportions. He walks in just as they begin bickering over whether or not the Sega Genesis version has the Golden Shower fatality for Chaos or if the game is censored like its Super Nintendo variation. He leaves that disagreement before he gets dragged into it, muttering a quick goodbye as he switches his room key with Ray's and slips into the hallway with his backpack draped over one shoulder.

He makes the short walk to his new room two doors down and lets himself in. Gerard is sitting cross-legged on the bed closest to the window, drawing in his sketchbook with his new set of watercolor pens and listening to the television at a low volume. 

"Hey."

"Whatever," Frank jokes, setting his stuff down and throwing himself across the free bed next to the bathroom. "Fucking tired."

"I'll be sure to forward you a picture of my surprised face."

"I'll be sure to wait until you go to sleep before I shove your brainpan into the wall," Frank quips as he stands up to take off his shoes and plop down on Gerard's bed. He folds his legs and peeks over the rim of the sketchbook. "Those pens are the shit."

"Cool, right? Wanna try 'em out?"

"Can I bum some paper?"

Gerard tears out a piece and digs for a hard surface for Frank to draw on, pulling out a notebook and handing it to him. Frank's first few attempts with the pens don't work out very well and he doesn't want to ruin them, so he asks, "How the fuck do they work?"

"Hold it almost straight up and down," Gerard advises, demonstrating with the one in his hand a few times. Frank finally figures it out and isn't sure what to draw at first, but ultimately settles on a skull because he's ironic and alternative like that. They sit in silence drawing for a while until both of them start pausing to stretch out sore muscles. Frank finishes his skull and writes MY SKILLS SUCK RHINOCEROS DICK in the corner.

"I'm bored," Frank resolves after a few minutes. "Did you bring any movies up?"

"Yup," Gerard says with a nod, smiling maniacally as he suggests, "I brought 'The Human Centipede.'"

"Cool story."

"Don't be that guy. It's the best movie ever and you know it."

"Gerard. You _never_ go ass-to-mouth. How many times do I have to explain this to you?"

"This one instance is totally acceptable ass-to-mouth."

"No, it isn't."

"Okay, we won't watch it, but that means you're the B."

Frank gawks and punches Gerard in the arm. "Fuck you! You're the B!"

"Watching it with me will totally promote you to the A," the redhead proposes with a well-practiced pout.

"Or," Frank suggests, "Or...I can go take a shower and not be further subjected to your pants-shittingly gross torture porn."

"Fine, jerkwad, we'll watch something else," Gerard jibes, setting down his sketchbook and reaching into one of his bags.

"Do you have 'Re-Animator?'"

Gerard gives him a look. "What the hell kind of question is that? _Do I have 'Re-Animator.'_ Go take your shower before I shank your face and throw you out the window."

"Yeah, yeah," Frank laughs, grabbing some clothes out of his suitcase and making for the bathroom.

Fancy tiles are a welcome change from the usual frictionless death trap that most hotel showers offer and Frank marvels at the fact that he actually has room to move around. When he finally finishes and changes into some pajamas, he opens the bathroom door and finds Gerard already watching the movie without him. He throws his towel across the room and it hits Gerard in the face.

"Thanks for waiting, shitass."

"Thanks for throwing your sick towel at me," Gerard contends, chucking it back at him.

Instead of answering Frank just throws a pillow at him. Gerard catches it midair and hurdles across both beds to start viciously beating Frank over the head. Frank shields himself with another pillow and picks up his towel, cracking one of the corners across Gerard's leg with a satisfying _pop_. Gerard curses loudly and tackles him to the ground, prying Frank's towel out of his vice grip and resuming his initial assault.

They thrash around on the floor as Frank feebly attempts to grab another form of shield before he sustains a concussion. When that doesn't work, he blindly kicks out one of his legs and rolls them over, pinning Gerard down as they both fight for the pillow. This continues until they hear a tearing sound, which is the only warning they get before the pillow rips open and sends Frank flying backward into Gerard's knees, knocking the breath out of him and covering them in cotton.

They briefly lay there in shock, succumbing to the hilarity of it soon after. They come down from their hysterics just in time for both of them to notice Frank is hard, a discovery that sets them off all over again. Gerard is absolutely beside himself over it, trying several times to speak and failing miserably, completely incapable of doing anything other than point between Frank's legs and laugh even harder.

"I can't breathe," Gerard chokes out through fractured, tired laughter. "Only you, Frank.”

"I stopped trying to understand my dick a long time ago," Frank enlightens as he climbs off Gerard and stands up. "I think it overheard my health teacher in ninth grade talking about boners being a 'natural response to stimuli' and it just kind of ran with that ever since. Then again, my health teacher was also our school's wrestling couch, so I guess I can see how that would be skewed boner logic in this situation."

Gerard laughs again as they both lift him onto his feet. "Well, your crotch isn't invited to movie night so you're gonna have to figure that out ASAP."

Frank stands there thinking for a minute, scouring his brain for every unsexy thing he can think of until an idea pops into his head. His initial reaction is that he'd rather slam a dictionary on his balls every time he even considers the thought, but he doesn't really have that pedigree of energy this time of night.

So, with the most soul-crushing noise he can muster, Frank suggests, "We could watch 'The Human Centipede.'"

"Yes!" Gerard exclaims, raising his arms in the air triumphantly. "Best decision ever! You can be the A."

 

***

 

"Who won the tournament last night?" asks Frank at breakfast the next morning.

"We're too evenly matched for 'Primal Rage,'" Mikey replies over a bowl of cereal.

"It was ridic," adds Ray, "So we decided to try our hands at Sonic and I kicked his ass. I've never seen a hedgehog bite the dust so many times in ten minutes."

Mikey shrugs. "I'm cool with it."

Ray turns to Gerard. "He's cool with it."

"What'd you guys get into?"

"Ritualistic killings mostly," Gerard pipes.

"Yeah," says Frank, "Then we watched 'The Human Centipede' to get rid of my boner."

Ray nods appreciatively. "Nice."

"Who was the boner for?" Mikey bravely ventures.

"Your brother," Frank blurts out nonchalantly, pressing his tongue to the side of his mouth and mimicking a blowjob with his hand.

Mikey makes a weird face. "That's cool I guess," he forces out, mouthing _WOW_ into his cereal bowl.

Frank is about to say something when his phone buzzes on the table. He picks it up, finds a text from Gerard that says _boner logic_ and kicks his shin under the table.

 

***

 

"Are you fucking my brother?"

Currently in the middle of shaving his head in a venue green room, Frank turns off his electric buzzer, looks at Mikey and waits for a punch line that never comes. Frank points to the unshaven side of his head.

"I'm thinking about growing this part out and rocking a dope ass side pony."

"Do it," says Mikey dismissively. "Are you fucking my brother?"

Frank shakes his head, flipping on the buzzer and leaning closer to the mirror. He gets halfway through another section of hair before the buzzer cuts out and shuts off completely. Frank sighs loudly because he knows Mikey unplugged it - he saw the fucker do it out of the corner of his eye. Haphazardly tossing the buzzer onto a nearby table, Frank turns to face him.

"I'm not fucking your brother. Okay? Nothing happened." Grabbing the end of the cord out of Mikey's hand, Frank plugs it back in and asks, "Can I finish being all anti-establishment now?"

Mikey unplugs it again and talks over Frank's frustrated noise, "You really expect me to believe that the two of you just said 'fuck it, lunch' and watched a movie after your impulse boner?"

"Yes, idiot, because that's what happened," Frank says irritably, snatching the cord and plugging it back in. He doesn't even get a chance to turn it on before Mikey, yet again, yanks it out of the wall. It's all Frank can do to keep from grabbing him by the back of the neck and bashing his face into the mirror. "Do you _want_ me to kill you?"

"I won't be mad if you guys are hooking up, you know. I just don't like people thinking I'm stupid."

"You are stupid. For plenty of other reasons."

They stare at each other for a moment or two before Mikey thankfully plugs the buzzer back into the wall socket and walks away. Frank curses under his breath and gets back to work.

 

***

 

Alicia visits them in Des Moines the next day. Once she dishes out all of her hellos and has time to settle in, she plants herself next to Frank on one of the couches backstage and wraps her arms around his neck.

"My husband lives under the impression that you're plowing his kin."

"Your husband is grossly deluded in his old age," Frank points out crossly.

She pulls out of the hug. "Are you?"

"No."

She hums thoughtfully. "I believe you."

He feels his muscles relax, which is a little weird, because Frank doesn't remember them tensing up in the first place.

"I don't really get the boner aspect of the story, though."

"There's nothing to get," Frank insists as he childishly folds his arms across his chest and sulks. "Unless you failed biology, in which case, not my problem."

Alicia pats him on the head a few times. "Slow your roll broseph, I'm on your side. I only ask because I'm a lady; spontaneous boners are somewhat of an enigma to my people."

He sinks a little further into the couch and grumbles, "Sorry."

"It's cool," she says, resting an elbow on her knee so she can prop her chin in her hand. "What were you guys doing, anyway?"

Frank realizes that there is no feasible way for him to articulate "wrestling on the floor" without someone hemorrhaging from sexual innuendo, so instead he provides, "We weren't 'doing' anything. It just happened." Not exactly the most comprehensive answer he's ever given, but it's still the truth.

He expects a little bit more of a fight out of her but Alicia unexpectedly shakes her head and concedes, "I guess I'll never truly understand guy problems."

"It's a fair trade. I'll never understand why strange women I've never met keep asking me to marry them."

Laughing, Alicia punches his face in slow motion. "That's because you're humble and it's totally adorable. Chicks dig modesty."

"Humble about what?"

Alicia rolls her eyes, pinching his cheek between her fingers as she stands up.

"Humble about what?" Frank asks again, but she waves him off and makes her way over to Mikey.

Confused and in dire need of nicotine, Frank grabs his smokes and hoofs it to the buses so he can stew in his boner-heard-'round-the-world angst. Once he's outside he lights up and plops down on the bottom step of a nearby staircase, smoking slowly in an attempt to unwind a little. He wonders how many more times he is doomed to defend his severely undersexed life and groans wearily. He hears the back door open behind him a few minutes later and isn't at all surprised to see Gerard appear in front of him.

"Fuego?" he asks right off the bat. Frank retrieves his lighter and hands it over.

"Everyone thinks we're fucking."

Gerard scoffs around his cigarette and passes the lighter back to Frank, smoke billowing out of his mouth. "That's dumb."

"True story," Frank agrees, resting his chin on his knees.

"I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. It's not like that's a new indictment for you and me."

"From people we've never met, yeah, but not from people we actually know."

"So Mikey thinks we're fucking," Gerard brushes off. "Big deal, he makes stupid assumptions all the time. You remember that intervention we had when he kept bringing the heater into the shower?"

Frank smiles at the memory. "Did he talk to you?"

"Of course he did," Gerard says after taking a drag, "I told him nothing happened."

"So did I."

"Which is exactly what happened, so there's nothing to worry about, right?"

Frank considers this and sighs, "I guess."

"So what's the problem, then?"

"I don't know."

"Were we supposed to be fucking or something?"

"Apparently."

Gerard finishes his last drag, tossing the butt aside as he takes off his sunglasses. He rests a hand on the back of Frank's neck and leans down to peck him on the lips.

"Since we're fucking and all," he says with a toothy grin, putting his glasses back on and going inside. Frank wipes his mouth on his sleeve and lights another cigarette.

 

***

 

With all the texting Gerard has been doing lately and the way he disappears out of the room whenever his phone goes off, Frank probably should've seen it coming. When he finds himself sitting in a hotel room that he's supposed to be sharing, he's caught off guard to discover that Gerard's belongings aren't where they should be. A little more surprisingly, neither is Gerard.

Now that Frank thinks about it, he doesn't remember seeing Gerard when they left the venue to head back to the hotel. Frank thought maybe he'd stuck around after the show or hitched a ride in the transport van, but apparently not. When the digital clock reads four in the morning and he still hasn't shown up, Frank caves and calls Mikey.

"He's at that motel up the street," Mikey says, the sound of him mashing buttons on a controller loud enough to hear over the phone. "He's gonna meet back up with us in Chicago."

"Ah, okay. What's he got going on at the motel?"

"One guess," Mikey mutters cynically. "He's with Lindsey."

Dead air settles on both ends as Frank's brain lapses and leaves him staring stupidly at the wall. "Projekt Revolution Lindsey?"

"That's the one."

Another pause.

"You're serious."

"As a heart attack," Mikey vouches, "Kid's a glutton for punishment."

Somewhere between the emotional onslaught of 'what the fuck' and 'put your fist through the television' Frank spits out, "And nobody bothered to tell him what a primo shitty idea this was?"

"What is there to tell? He's obviously already made up his mind about it."

"You're really not going to say anything to him?"

"Frank," Mikey sighs into the phone, "If I thought it would change anything you know I would, but the last time I personally tried to talk to Gerard about who he dates was when he was fucking around with Bert, and we all saw how well that turned out."

Frank recoils at the images of Bert McCracken waltzing around in his head like they own the place. "I'm guessing she's who he's been talking to all this time, then?"

"I'm thinking so, and if that's the case then he's been talking to her for weeks, which makes sense. He doesn't move that fast."

A sharp, completely inappropriate laugh comes somersaulting out before Frank can stop himself. He clamps a hand over his mouth in horror and tries not to think about how fast Gerard got out of his pants five years ago, hastily recovering with, "Yeah." When he feels a little more in control of the dithering filter between his brain and his mouth, he ultimately sighs, "Whatever, I guess."

"That's pretty much how Ray and I feel about it."

There's a sour taste on Frank's tongue and suddenly all he wants to do is go to sleep so he doesn't have to talk about this anymore. "Okay, well, just wanted to make sure your brother isn't taking a dirt nap. I'm gonna go to sleep, now."

"Ditto," Mikey yawns. "See you in the A.M."

Not even bothering to say goodbye, Frank simply hangs up and stares at his phone in disbelief. What a dumbass, he muses as he looks to the empty bed next to his and shakes his head. He sets his phone on the side table and begins aimlessly channel surfing until he feels tired.

He knows he shouldn't care, but Frank can't always help being homicidally protective of the people he cares about, which is not to say that Gerard needs defending. In all the years that Frank has known him, Gerard has never been the kind of person who cares what anyone thinks about him, so he's never really needed the justification. As respectable as it may be, however, the quirk sometimes filters into Gerard not really caring what his own friends have to say, particularly within his love life. While it deeply frustrates Frank that Gerard is seeing Lindsey again, Mikey is right. All any of them can do at this point is hope for the best.

With one final glance at the empty bed beside his, Frank turns off the lights and the television. He passes out within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

 

***

 

Lindsey doesn't show up with Gerard in Chicago when he walks in just in time for soundcheck, all four of them exchanging quick hellos as they are whisked away to the stage. Mikey tugs Gerard by the arm to walk faster in front of Ray and Frank, making firm hand motions as he talks. Part of Frank hopes Gerard is getting reamed for spending the night with Lindsey, but they're probably just talking about Batman. It's kind of hard to tell with those two sometimes.

When it's his and Ray's turn to fine-tune their sound on the monitors, Frank idly strums through various chord progressions and stomps on his pedals, motioning to stagehands whenever something needs adjusting. He does this for a while until he hears Mikey play several broken portions of 'Killing in the Name' just behind him, to which Frank laughs and clumsily joins in for the second verse.

"You're no Tom Morello," they suddenly hear Gerard say over the mic as he appears next to Pedicone's drum kit with a bottle of water.

Frank stops playing. "Buzz kill."

Soundcheck wraps soon after and they receive a short break before press interviews, which Frank and Gerard both utilize to sneak off for a cigarette. They wait until nobody is looking and bolt around a corner all 'Mission: Impossible' style, walking briskly down the hall until they are outside. 

"I'm thinking about quitting," Frank supplies as they light up, staring at the smoke and picturing a sticky black mess taking up residence in his lungs.

"Are you actually wanting to quit this time or are you just saying your inner monologues out loud again?"

"I'm thinking about it," Frank asserts. "I'm really bad with obligations, though. I can't even get my Red Box rentals back on time."

"I'd say you're pretty dedicated to smoking."

"Conscious obligations, you dillhole."

"My bad," Gerard says, following it with, "For the record, I know what you're thinking."

"Holy shit," Frank says with eyes as big as saucers. "What level wizard are you, now?"

It's hard to tell behind the sunglasses, but Gerard is definitely giving him a look. "About Lindsey, dipshit. All of you think I'm stupid for seeing her again."

Frank smirks. "Not out loud."

"Right," Gerard says, "I just want to stress to all of you that neither of us are expecting anything from it. We're just hanging out."

"You don't have to defend yourself to me."

"I know I don't. I just didn't want anybody to get the wrong idea about it."

"Who you hump is none of my business." Frank stubs out his cigarette and throws it in a nearby trashcan.

"Who says we're humping?"

"Nobody, I just kind of assumed. Are you humping?"

Gerard starts laughing. "I was trying to be a gentleman about it."

"And you're doing a great job so far," Frank mockingly consoles, slapping him on the back just a little too hard and knocking Gerard's cigarette out of his mouth.

"I plan on talking to Ray," Gerard goes on as he sighs and casually steps on his half finished cigarette. "I'd appreciate you not saying anything to him until I get the chance."

"Fuck," Frank cracks as they both turn to go inside, "I wasn't supposed to say anything? Shit on me, now I have to go tell him to act surprised."

Gerard affectionately retaliates by tripping him. Frank plunges face first into the door.

 

***

 

Lindsey shows up backstage in Cleveland. She barely says hello before entwining her fingers with Gerard's, making goo-goo eyes at him and shadowing his every move like some kind of pathetic game of connect the dots. Frank retreats to a bathroom down the hall after the couple leaves the room and stands in there cussing, staring fixedly into the mirror as he tries to collect his thoughts.

He doesn't care. He isn't going to make this a big deal. Armies will cower and crumble at how much he isn't going to care about it. The whole thing is probably only temporary, anyway; he can totally do this. Even if it's complete bullshit and he shouldn't have to, this is doable. Frank squints at his reflection with what he hopes is determination.

Lindsey and Gerard are back inside by the time he returns from the bathroom. Seeing them together instantly pisses him off all over again, so to refrain from doing anything stupid he keeps his distance and doesn't say a word. The sound of her phony, shrill laughter is grating on what's left of Frank's resolve and he plays with the idea of strangling himself with razor wire.

Ray then appears beside him and mutters, "Adorable, right?"

"Must be the backbend." Frank scrunches his face. "I just grossed myself out."

Nodding his head, Ray suggests, "Bail?"

There's a startling moment of clarity when Frank realizes that Ray Toro is awesome and perfect in every way. He has to talk himself out of giving him a girly hug around the middle and returns with a gruff "bail" instead. If Ray wasn't married, Frank would probably give him a courtesy hand job just out of principle.

They both slip out of the building completely undetected and decide to hang on the bus, stopping first to score the keys from Trent. Frank beelines to the back as soon as he's inside and flings himself onto the couch to settle in for 'Tekken'. Just as Ray sits down to join, he jumps up and retreats to the bunk area. "Hold up."

"You can't prolong the inevitable," Frank goads. "Get in here so I can kick names and take ass."

"Plug your noise hole and fire up the PS3," Ray demands, rummaging through his luggage.

"Are we doing Random or what?" Frank asks as he follows orders.

Reappearing from the bunks, Ray walks over and sits down with a pleased look on his face. He turns to Frank and holds up a decent sized joint wrapped in decorative paper. Frank's face brightens from ear to ear as he exclaims, "Get the fuck out, Toro! Where'd that shit come from?"

"If I told you I'd have to kill you," Ray warns ominously. "It definitely wasn't Trent, though. Okay it was Trent. Trent gave me drugs. Can I see your lighter?"

Frank forks over his Bic and makes a speedy run to the kitchen to find something for them to ash in. He comes across a shot glass all the way at the back of the overhead cabinet and makes his way back to Ray, who has already started smoking.

"All we're missing is a trailer hitch and boxes of merch," Frank reminisces as he plops back down on the couch, setting the shot glass between them.

"I was just thinking that," Ray says as he lets out his hit. "Remember when me, you and Gerard would hotbox the van whenever Mikey was sleeping just so he'd wake up high?"

"Fucking yes," Frank recalls, taking the joint as they both laugh just picturing it. "He'd always get so pissed but he'd be too fucked up to do anything. "

"He'd just shoot us the bird and go back to sleep," Ray impressively strings together. "Man...love that fool."

Frank nods, drawing long and slow for his hit until the back of his throat burns. He sucks in air and passes back, holding his breath for several seconds. "The Ways are a strange breed," he notes throatily, watching the smoke as he exhales. He means it in the best possible way. 

"Can I ask you something, though?"

"Free country."

"What's the deal with you and Gerard?" Ray poses, ashing into the shot glass.

"If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that question, I could be retired in Fiji by now."

"Aw come on, baby, don't be like that. This is a safe place. Are you gettin' some strange or what?"

The sigh Frank that almost gives him gets lost in that stupid stoner half-giggle thing he thought he'd left behind years ago. "Is this your very bizarre way of telling me that you're with Mikey on the whole boner thing?"

"No, dude, but I mean, come on. You can't really be surprised when people start wondering, and let me tell you, people have been wondering about you two for a long time. Even Bob was convinced you were dancing the mattress jig."

"Bob thought we were fucking?" Frank says, astonished. "Huh. The irony..."

Ray gives him an odd look. "How is that ironic?"

Frank realizes his slip up and covers with, "I guess it isn't."

"Jesus," Ray laughs, "You're so high you're regressing. Maybe we should finish this later."

"Don't be a lush, Toro."

"Are you even going to remember how to play tonight?"

"I'll remember to dropkick your face into the back of your skull," Frank antagonizes as he breezes through game menus with his controller.

Ray whistles and grabs his own controller. "Them's fightin' words, son. Put that shit out so we can do this."

Frank wins three out of ten games and Ray gloats all the way back to the venue.

 

***

 

"Favorite villain of all time," Mikey wants to know during downtime in Toronto. "Ready go."

"Pumpkinhead," Frank cites first as he rakes through his bag. "Gee, did you get all five finger discount with my lighter?"

"Pumpkinhead sucks dick for loose change," Gerard prods with a grin, biting his lip and waggling Frank's lighter between his fingers. Frank smacks it out of his hand and laughs at the sad noise Gerard makes when it hits the floor.

"Pyramid Head," Ray chimes in. "Console variant, not the shitty movie adaptation."

"What!" Mikey squawks indignantly. "Bullshit, the movie version tears the skin off that one chick and throws it at a church. You're really gonna sit here and pick the console version instead?"

Ray turns to him with a baffled expression. "Whenever you decide to stop cheering for the losing team, you have my phone number."

Movement in the doorway interrupts their argument and all of them look up just in time to see Lindsey saunter in. She says nothing and waves shyly to everyone, to which Frank finds himself thinking, really? Who just walks into a room without a formal invitation and feels modest after the fact?

"Hey Linds," Gerard says, smiling widely as he stands up to greet her. "How was the trip?"

He meets her halfway for a warm embrace and Frank has to turn away as she starts rattling off about a traffic jam further up the road. He hears them kiss from across the room and grinds his teeth, pulling out his phone and pretending to read a text message. When he can't stand listening to her idle chitchat anymore he locates his smokes and leaves the room to "answer it", peeking over his shoulder once he's out of sight to make sure he's not being followed. When nobody pursues him, he jams his phone into the front pocket of his hoodie and flips up the hood.

Outside, he tucks behind a corner with a cigarette already balanced between his lips. As he searches all of his pockets he suddenly realizes that his lighter is still on the floor where he'd knocked it out of Gerard's hand. He panics for a moment but just in time to save him from a Hamletesque soliloquy, the universe provides a stray lighter several feet away. He dives for it, dropping it a couple of times before he finally manages to pick it up. He rolls it around in his hand and gives it a few flicks.

Nothing happens.

"PERFECT," he yells, throwing it at the wall as hard as he can and inexplicably raging over the fact that it doesn't explode on impact. "Piece of shit!"

"What the hell are you shouting about back here?"

Frank spins with his cigarette still dangling from his mouth and comes face to face with Gerard, who has apparently been standing behind him for an unknown period of time. Unsure how to properly handle being caught mid-freakout, Frank's mind detonates with enough expletives to put a Quentin Tarantino flick to shame.

"Nothing."

 ** _Poetic,_** he thinks with an inward cringe. **_You fucking invalid._**

"Good times," Gerard answers tautly, holding out a lighter. "You left this inside."

Frank hesitates, thinking invisible thoughts, hoping that he'll somehow luck out and disappear completely. He finally takes the lighter and ignites the end of his cigarette as soon it's in his possession, Gerard surveying his every move with fixed interest. On the one day this week he isn't wearing those stupid sunglasses.

"I need you to be honest with me."

"Okay."

"Do you have a problem with me dating Lindsey?"

Sucking down his cigarette as fast as his lungs will allow, Frank replies, "No."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"Dude," Gerard says impatiently, running a hand through his hair, "Come on, I'm asking you as a friend. Don't do this right now."

"Don't do what, exactly? You asked me if I have a problem with you dating her and I don't."

"Frank, I'm not stupid, okay? You won't even stay in the same room with her."

"I'm not doing it to punish you for dating her again, I'm doing it so I don't say something stupid. I don't care if you want to see her again, but just because you've gotten over what she did doesn't obligate me to do the same."

Gerard stares at him in disbelief. "What the fuck does any of that have to do with you? Are you just inventing reasons to be an asshole, now?"

Frank flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette. "Do you whatever you want, Gerard."

"If this is really how you're gonna act every time she's here, just tell me now so I'll know not to expect any better."

Frank's jaw tightens and he pops off aggressively, "Can you NOT talk to me like I'm a fucking child, please?"

"Can you not ACT like a fucking child first? For fuck's sake, Frank, it's not like I'm asking you to take her out to dinner."

Frank throws up his hands. "I'm SO sorry that I don't want to have sweet hangs with the person who left you for some dickbag she was fucking on the side. _What_ an asshole."

"Okay, you know what?" Gerard says with an injured expression, "Come talk to me when you grow up."

He leaves it at that and walks away without another word, slamming the door behind him.

They don't talk for the rest of the day.

 

***

 

Frank wakes up in Montreal with a migraine. He groans tiredly, covering his face with a pillow just in time to flinch at the loud SCRITCH noise his privacy curtain makes when it's yanked open.

"Oh god, don't do it!" he hears Alicia cry out beside him, trying to pull the pillow off his face. "You have every reason to live!"

"I learned it from watching you!" he wails dramatically as he flings it at her. He rolls onto his side and pretends to sob into his blanket. She laughs and sticks a wiggling digit into his armpit.

"Come hang out with me and my man candy, we're thinking tacos."

"Alright, alight," Frank caves instantly, squirming away from her. "I will, just - for the love of God, just get your feely hands away from my pits."

Frank grabs a quick bite to eat with Alicia and Mikey before meeting up with everyone backstage. Lindsey is noticeably absent, allowing Frank to breathe a little easier as he and Ray share the usual exploding knuckle touch. When he spots Gerard and administers a quick "hey", the singer shoots him a dirty look and brushes past him. Frank takes a generous swig from his water bottle and swirls it around in his mouth to prevent any snide comments from slipping out.

"What was that about?" Alicia asks as she slinks up next to him.

Frank makes sure the others are distracted and mutters back, "He's pissed off because I won't play happy family with Lindsey."

"Ah, so he's definitely talking to her again?"

"You have no idea."

Her face falls slightly. "He's not."

"He is."

She moves in a little closer with her arms folded across her chest and whispers, "How did you find out?"

"He told me."

Alicia facepalms. "Oy vey...wait, so why is he mad at you? Did you tell her off or something?"

"I haven't said two words to her."

"Hm." Alicia shrugs. "Honestly, I don't really see what the big deal is about them hanging out again. Maybe she's changed."

"Yeah, well, the last time I saw her, Derek was slobbering all over her tonsils, so I’d like to think I’m justified in not kissing her ass," Frank snarls acidly, the memory infuriating him all over again. “He wants to be king of Shit Mountain? Fine. Go nuts.”

Alicia gapes. " _What?_ "

"Yup," he reaffirms, "I'm the one who caught her behind the MSI bus a couple of days before she dumped Gerard."

All the rosy tones in Alicia's cheeks vanish as she hisses back, "Are you fucking serious?"

He deadpans. "Nope, you caught me. I'm just making this all up because I like the attention."

"And he expects you to hang out with her like everything’s cool?" Alicia presses a little more angrily. “That’s pretty fucking lame, want me to say something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank replies dismissively. “It’s my problem.”

“Yeah, but it’s a really shitty problem,” Alicia argues. “You’re the one who busted her, but fuck you for not wanting to be besties? What kind of shit is that?”

A guilty smile suddenly creeps across Frank's face and Alicia eyes him in confusion before everything appears to align in her head. Without warning, Alicia narrows her gaze and punches him as hard as she can in the shoulder. Before he can even react, she's captured a spot on his left tricep between her fingers and is hauling him out of the room by his skin, Frank providing a colorful vocabulary all the way out.

She steers him down the hall and around a few corners before finally letting go and just staring at him, lecturing him with her mind. Frank examines the red marks swelling in the place of her fingers and berates, "Could you not just ask me to step outside? Jesus, man, my fucking arm meat!"

"It'll grow back," she says offhandedly. "You never told Gerard about catching Lindsey, did you?"

He shrinks away from her and mumbles a very small, "...No?"

She punches him in the exact same spot on his shoulder.

"Ow, you dick! I do have two shoulders, you know!"

"How could you not tell him, Frank? That fucking changes everything!"

Frank sighs and begs, "I know what you're trying to say but please don't give me this number, okay? He showed me the ring _that day_. Where was I supposed to slip a bomb like that into the conversation? 'No, Gerard, I'm not mad that Mikey is gonna be your best man because I just saw Lindsey dry fucking her sound tech about twenty feet from where we're sitting. Do we have any milk?'"

A dark look crosses Alicia's face and she looks ready to kill. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"No! Just - UGH." His face contorts into a frustrated grimace and he curses his utter inability to take anything seriously. His arms helplessly flail around and he has a momentary crisis at how girly he must look doing it. "Look," he says determinedly, "I may not have talked to him about it but I did talk to Lindsey. I pulled her aside the next day, told her I saw it and that if she ever cared about Gerard at all she would tell him the truth. I didn't expect her to leave him for Derek but the end result would've been the same either way, so I just never said anything."

Alicia stands there with her hands on her hips and shakes her head at him - actually shakes her head at him, like she's his mom and she just caught him sneaking booze out of the liquor cabinet. "You need to talk to Gerard," she tells him after a few minutes. "You need to tell him everything you just told me. I know for a fact that he wouldn't be pissed if he already knew about all of this."

"I can't do that, Alicia."

"Would you rather him find out from you or from somebody else?"

"Telling him now isn't going to change anything. As long as she's around, he's not going to listen to what any of us have to say, be it about her or their...whatever that is."

"What if you were in his shoes, Frank? Wouldn't you have wanted one of your best friends to tell you that he saw the love of your life cheating on you?"

"What difference does it make for me to bring it up this long after the fact?" Frank asks defensively. "All it's going to do is cause more drama for no reason and to be perfectly honest, as long as he's happy and I can still play in this band, I don't really give a shit what he does. If that's who he wants, fine. I don't care anymore."

Tension settles between them but she looks a little more sympathetic, which is good news for Frank's arm meat. He reaches into his pocket and anxiously wraps his fingers around his lighter, wishing there was a universal pause button so he can come back to this conversation after he's had more time to self-medicate his stupid life with lung cancer.

"I still think you should talk to him," she reiterates a little more calmly. "He might be mad at first but I think once he's had time to think about it, he'll be really glad you told him."

Frank sighs again. "I'll think about it," he compromises, tapping his fingers restlessly against his leg.

"Good." A slow smile lights up Alicia's face and she tilts her head thoughtfully. "For the record, I think it's really cool that you're willing to be miserable just for his sake, even if your methods could use some work. Not a lot of people can say that about their friends."

Frank frowns. "You're not getting all schmaltzy on me, are you?"

"Maybe," she giggles. "Can I ask you something?"

Goddamn it, of course she's asking him this question right now. He gazes longingly off to his left, wondering how many times he would have to headbutt the wall to lose consciousness. If he can get beyond the skull fractures and cerebral contusions, blacking out in a seizure on the floor should be a relatively simple task.

"What's the deal with me and Gerard?"

She looks surprised. "Yeah, actually. How did you know?"

"You're not the first to ask, and nothing is going on with that."

"Have you guys ever...?" she trails off. "Y'know."

"What?"

She gives him puppy dog eyes. "Don't make me say it."

"Have we ever fucked," Frank produces for her, grinning when she winces at his vulgarity. "I'm not telling."

Alicia stamps her foot. "Bullshit, you can't do that to me, Frank Iero. I still haven't told anybody about the - "

"Don't you dare say that out loud," Frank hushes, looking around to make sure nobody is listening. A few stagehands walk by but they're essentially alone. When the coast is clear he leans in closer and threatens, "If I ever find out that you repeated what I'm about to say, I will make your death look like an accident."

"God, shut _up_. You know I'm not going to say anything."

With one last sigh Frank finally reveals, "Once."

"I fucking knew it!" she shrieks a little too loudly, covering and uncovering her mouth a few times with her hand. "When? How?"

"Taste of Chaos back in '05. I got shitfaced before a show and Bob told me to go lay down on the bus. Gerard was hanging out in there, I made a pass at him, and then we did some things that I’m not really comfortable discussing with you at this juncture in our friendship.”

There is a fond curiosity in Alicia's voice as she presses, "And you only hooked up the one time?"

"Uhh…well. I mean, we kinda messed around a couple of times before then, but most of that was just, like, making out when we were drunk. The shit on stage is just to bum people out."

"Wait, so you’ve been hooking up this whole time?"

"You're asking a lot of weird personal questions about your husband’s brother."

"I just think it's cute," Alicia shrugs, smiling at him knowingly.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean your secret mutual dude crush," Alicia clarifies with an even wider smile. "That's basically the most adorable thing I've ever heard in my life."

"Wow, no," Frank laughs awkwardly, mildly creeped out at how enthusiastic she is about the whole idea. "We just share an affinity for the D, this isn’t one of those Hallmark movies."

"So you’re what, then? Friends with benefits?"

"I guess, I don't know; it's not like we still hook up or anything. We stopped hooking up a long time ago."

"When he first got together with Lindsey," Alicia offers, but Frank shakes his head.

"Nah, it had been a while even before all of that, and it wasn't even that regular of a thing in the first place."

Alicia still looks smug but appears to be satisfied with his response. She watches him squirm under her watchful eye for a moment before she grins widely and asks, "Who else knows about it?"

"As far as I know, you're the first."

"Damn," she remarks, looking somewhat in awe. "I don't know if I'm ready for this kind of responsibility."

"Are you at least ready to let me go smoke?" he asks pleadingly. "I've been dying for the last ten minutes."

She lets him smoke. He makes a new playlist on his iPod and doesn't bother naming it.

 

***

 

They still aren't talking two days later, so Frank decides to follow Alicia's advice and just bite the bullet on this one. If he's doomed to spend the rest of his life not talking to Gerard, he's going to do so with a clear conscience. The thought itself doesn't offer much comfort, but at least he will suffer knowing that he's said everything he needs to say.

He waits for downtime during their second show in New York (when Lindsey isn't visiting) and sends a text message that says: **_Talk outside?_** Once he reads the message, Gerard stands up and walks to the door, nodding for Frank to follow behind him. Frank exhales a few times to gather his courage and stands up slowly, feeling like an inmate walking to the electric chair.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Gerard faces Frank and pulls out his cigarettes. He takes one for himself and holds out his pack.

"I'm too wired to smoke," says Frank.

Gerard shrugs and puts them away, lighting the one in his hand and asking around it, "What's up?"

Something swells around Frank's jumbled stomach muscles. "I’m sorry for acting like such a piece of shit the other day…you didn’t deserve it and my shitty attitude was totally fucking unnecessary. The whole thing was stupid and I’m sorry." He breathes slowly and tries to mentally prepare himself for the shitstorm that's about to follow. "Also, I have to tell you something."

He tries to swallow the anxiety and spill his guts, which are currently lodged somewhere in his larynx. The only way he's going to get through this is to treat it like a band-aid and rip it off as fast as possible.

"I busted Lindsey with Derek during Projekt Revolution a few days before you proposed," he says hurriedly, wanting to get all of out before he can lose his nerve. "The next day I told her she needed to talk to you about it and that was the last time I ever saw her, at least until she started coming around again."

There are a few terrifying moments that Gerard seems frozen in time, eyes drilling through Frank's skull into the brick wall just behind him. When he finally speaks it's even worse than Frank anticipates.

"That's the most fucked up thing you've ever told me," Gerard submits. "Don't talk to me anymore, okay?"

"Gee - "

"This conversation is over."

"Would you just listen to me for two seconds?" Frank pleads as he sidesteps to keep Gerard from going inside. "This is exactly why I didn't want to say anything, because I fucking knew you were gonna be like this."

Gerard takes a moment to glower at him and then walks away in the opposite direction.

Frank takes off after him while beckoning, "Hey! HEY!" Gerard won't even look at him, walking as fast as his legs will take him without running but Frank keeps trying. He finally gets close enough to grab Gerard's arm and wheezes, "Fucking _stop!_ "

Roughly jerking his arm out of Frank's grasp, Gerard keeps walking and grinds out, "You know what the shittiest part about all of this is? You felt the need to go behind my back when you could've just talked to me like a fucking man. As long as we've been friends and after all the shit that we've been through, you still can't be honest with me. Un-fucking-real."

By the time they reach the buses Frank is wounded and hot all over. His temper bubbles over as he unexpectedly shouts, "Oh whatever, you fucking hypocrite! Thanks for taking two years to say anything about hooking up with that troll from The Used three days after we fucked. Really appreciate it, ASSHOLE."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Gerard spins around and shoves him at the shoulders hard enough to send Frank stumbling backward.

"You don't FUCKING get to tell me how I should feel about ANYTHING!" Gerard yells at the top of his lungs, kicking a traffic cone across the parking lot. "Once again, _FRANK_ , I don't seem to remember you taking the time to bring it up, either, so keep that in mind the next time you feel like talking shit to me. Pretty ballsy move on your part; I'd be more impressed if you weren't such a fantastic twat."

He turns to leave again. Frank isn't having it, grabbing for Gerard's arm just to have it torn from his grip again. Frustrated and desperate to keep Gerard talking, he gives a hard shove of his own. Gerard lurches forward but recovers with astonishing swiftness.

"Fucking please give me a reason, Frank," he drawls in a bitter laugh, right up in Frank's face. " _Please_ give me a reason to fucking waste you right now."

"I'm not trying to fight, you fucking idiot!" Frank persists. "Just listen to me, okay? I fucked up – I know I fucked up, I should have told you the day it happened and I’m sorry that I never did until now. I just didn't want you to think I was trying to interfere with your relationship."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that you didn’t say anything because you were worried I would be pissed at _you?_ " Gerard interjects, sounding genuinely hurt underneath the fresh wave of anger. "That’s fucking bullshit, Frank, and you know it’s bullshit. I was the laughing stock of that entire tour and it was all because you didn’t have the balls to say anything to my face."

"That's my whole fucking point!" Frank shouts. "Why would you go back after all of that? You could have anybody you ever fucking wanted – anybody! – yet you keep recycling the same people over and over like they’re going to magically stop sucking at life and be perfect for you. I literally don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself."

“Oh, anybody I wanted, huh?” Gerard asks caustically, cheeks splashed red with fury. "Anybody meaning you, right?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Frank sighs melodramatically, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Do you really have to bring this up every single time we fight?"

"You're the one bringing up old shit, Iero!” Gerard goes on loudly. “I mean, fuck, dude, how else am I supposed to take this? We both agreed it wasn’t a good idea to keep hooking up, it's not my fault if you still have hang ups about shit that happened five years ago."

" _Hang ups?_ " Frank scoffs. "Don't fucking flatter yourself, okay? God forbid anybody actually give a shit about what happens to you."

"You realize I was ready to marry her, right?" Gerard reminds him. "Something like that doesn't just go away; I still care about her as a person. We've spent the last few weeks talking about everything and we're both in a really good place, so we decided to hang out and see where it goes. The only problem we have right now is you."

The last bit sits heavy and knife-like in Frank's ribs, throat swelling shut so that he can do nothing but stand there. His mind slows to a crawl, dragging along in that underwater kind of way.

Frank tucks his hands into his front pockets and walks away. Gerard doesn't try to stop him.

 

***

 

He shows up late in Boston.

The break that followed their shows in New York had provided a much-needed lull that Frank spent rotting on the couch with his dogs. His uneventful vacation time is probably what's making him drag so much ass today, but his watch is telling that him they've only just started soundcheck, so he's not too worried about it.

His innards are doing their best pretzel imitation as he makes his way to the stage. He has no idea how today is going to go, much less the rest of the tour…he and Gerard haven't spoken since New York so it's really anyone's guess. The closer he gets, the more he can make out Ray and Mikey on the monitors, and now he hears Gerard babbling over the mic. He considers making a pit stop to the nearest bathroom for an out-of-stomach experience all over his favorite shirt.

The first person he sees is Mikey, who turns around just in time to give Frank a smile and a 'sup nod. Frank chances a side glance at Gerard as he walks across the stage and gets the same unresponsive acknowledgment as before. Not that he expected things to be any better, but it serves as a pleasant reminder of what he apparently has to look forward to.

"Hey fool," Mikey greets once he's within earshot. "How goes it?"

"It goes," Frank replies, patting him on the back and picking up a guitar. "Sorry I'm tardy to the party."

"Good of you to finally show up, nasal drip," Ray calls from the other side of the stage. "Did it take an act of God to get you out of bed this morning?"

Frank shoots him the bird and spouts, "Yo mama." Mikey makes Westside symbols with his hands just behind him.

"This is all time that could be spent doing your run through," Ray retorts, strumming a few chords on his guitar and chucking the pick in their direction. Frank blocks it with a well-timed swat and it hits Mikey in the leg.

Press immediately follows soundcheck, of which they spend divided into two groups: Mikey with Gerard and Frank with Ray. The separation allows Frank to distract himself long enough to ease his nausea and temporarily forget how much he hates everything right now. When the interviewer asks why they felt that the new record needed to be less theatrical than its predecessor, Frank is tempted to flip the coffee table and shout, "Because fuck your mother, that's why!" He leaves most of the answers up to Ray after that, moody because he knows he wouldn't actually do something like that in the middle of an interview. Even if he really, really wanted to.

He manages to coast through the rest of the Q&A with the occasional monosyllabic reply. As he and Ray make their way backstage thirty minutes later, Frank sighs deeply and digs his knuckles into the back of his neck, kneading at the stress knot forming there. All this private fuming is giving him another headache, and he suspects that there might be a developing stomach ulcer with FRANK written all over it.

So it's really only fitting that Lindsey is there when everyone gets back from their respective interviews.

Because Frank's life is shit.

Obviously.

He walks right by her and doesn't say a word, trudging on like she isn't even there. The evident snub leaves a hurt look on Lindsey's face and makes Gerard give a pissy sigh behind him, of which Frank relishes slightly. He knows he's just being asshole for the sake of being one, but he doesn't technically owe her the forged pleasantries, anyway, especially with Gerard still giving him the silent treatment. There isn't much else for him to lose at this point.

Everyone goes their separate ways for a while after that, which is just fine for Frank because it gives him a nice window to check all the emails that have been stacking up for the last week. In the middle of answering one of his old friends from The Crew, someone stammers, "Hey, uh, Frank?"

"Yeah?" he asks on autopilot, finishing his message and bringing his attention away from the phone. He is dumbstruck to find Lindsey bouncing anxiously from foot to foot beside him and freezes up, though the surprise factor quickly passes and he scowls.

"I was wondering if we could go outside for a minute?" she asks unsurely. "I'd be willing to bum you cigarettes for the trouble."

Frank's mouth presses into a thin line between his front teeth as he peeks over his shoulder. Gerard is watching them from his place on the couch from across the room but makes no movement to break them up. He isn't putting her up to this.

"I have my own," Frank mutters with an edge of finality, fiddling around on his phone some more.

"I really think that we should talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

She sighs. "You and I both know that this conversation needs to happen - "

"Does it?"

"Yes, it does," she says firmly, getting frustrated. "Will you please come outside with me so we can talk?"

Several tense moments pass as the two of them remain locked in a standoff until he viciously cuts, " _Fine._ " He throws his cell phone onto the table so that it clonks noisily and shoves his cigarettes into his back pocket.

"Could you possibly do this without making a scene?"

"HOW IS THIS FOR NOT MAKING A SCENE?" Frank asks loudly, all conversation in the room coming to a screeching halt. Her cheeks turn pink as he spins on his foot and breezes angrily out of the room. He overhears her tell Gerard not to follow as her footsteps track behind him.

They find a secluded spot and spend the first few minutes standing around. True to her word, Lindsey pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers one to him. He begrudgingly accepts and she gives both of them some time to smoke.

"Let me just say that I didn't come out here looking for a fight and that I think both of us are more than capable of having this conversation like adults," Lindsey initiates, having to stop for a moment to calm her jitters. "I know you don't have the best opinion of me, you've made that perfectly clear, but I want you to know that it was never my intention to come in between you and Gerard."

"That doesn't have anything to do with you."

"If I wasn't here, you wouldn't be fighting."

"You're right, but that still has nothing to do with you," he argues. "That's between me and him, so I'd appreciate you staying out of it."

He notices her eyes moisten and puff up. Her face puckers and she sniffles a few times, cleaning her face with the backs of her thumbs. Frank's first instinct is to hug her - he can't stand it when he sees a woman crying, it's the fucking death of him - but he holds his ground and remains indifferent.

"If I'd known it was going to cause so many problems I would've never come around again," she laments with a small choked noise, her speech shaky with emotion.

Frank isn't impressed. "If this poor baby routine is all you asked me to come out here for – "

"It isn't," she interrupts in a stronger tone, "I'm sorry, I just need a second." She wipes away the makeup under her eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths. "I brought you out here because I don't want to be the reason you and Gerard stop being friends. I'd like to at least try working things out with you, even if that means we just tolerate each other for him."

Frank's mind is reeling and he suddenly launches into her, "Here's the thing, right? You cheated on my friend. After cheating on my friend, you dumped him for the guy you were fucking behind his back. I've never seen Gerard that wrecked before, even when he was fucked up all the time, and he was like that for weeks."

He gives what he's said time to sink in. Lindsey is crying again and he hates not being able to comfort her, but these are all things that she needs to hear, so he just keeps going.

"Has he ever told you that Mikey had to go pick him up at some bar a few days after you left him for Derek? Did he tell you that he was shitfaced and that we had to carry him back to the hotel just like we used to when he was an alcoholic? Has any of that ever come up in your text messages?"

She shakes her head solemnly.

"It scared the shit out of us, but he pulled himself out of it and look where he is now. Yet even after putting him through all of that, you have the audacity to come waltzing back into his life like nothing ever happened, and that's my problem with you, Lindsey."

Tears are pouring down her face and dripping onto her shirt. "I know I hurt him, okay? I know what I did and I live with it every day, which is why this conversation is so important. I'm tired of him always being miserable because of me...all I'm asking for is the chance to prove to you that I wouldn't be here again if it weren't for the right reasons."

Frank drops his cigarette and steps on it. He takes his time mulling over her words, not wanting to say anything until he's gone over every possible scenario he can think of. Eventually he weighs enough outcomes to make a decision and is already talking before he realizes it.

"I'm willing to start over if you are." 

Lindsey looks to him with an elated expression. "Really?"

He shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck. "If Gerard thinks you deserve another shot - " he stops abruptly, comprehension dawning on him as he gradually finishes, "...I need to support his decision."

Lindsey smiles and sniffles, fond sympathy in her features. "If it's any consolation, I can't say I would act any different if I were in your position."

"I'm not really sure what that says about the two of us, but thanks." A grin escapes in spite of his efforts. "Sorry for being such a dick."

"Sorry for not talking to you sooner," she says, lightly patting him on the arm. "I think we should go back inside before people start getting worried. I'm sure Gerard thinks we're out here curb stomping each other."

"Probably." Frank pulls out his own pack of cigarettes and gives her one. "Personally, though, I think he can stand to sweat a little longer."

 

***

 

Coffee had definitely been a bad choice at five in the morning, because now Frank isn't going to be able to fall asleep until eight or nine. He tried forcing himself to sleep about an hour ago and gave up in favor of watching a movie in the lounge, choosing 'Fight Club' for a change of pace. He watches it on mute while listening to his iPod and though it does nothing to help him sleep, he decides that people getting their teeth kicked in to 'Raining Blood' is too awesome for any of that to matter.

Just as his eyes begin to droop, someone sits down next to the couch and pulls out one of Frank's earbuds, successfully scaring the bajeezus out of him. He recoils in a wild flail at the invasion and tenses for attack, settling only after he recognizes the familiar red mop beside him.

"Hey," Gerard says smugly, "You busy?"

"Apparently not. Thanks for harshing my mellow."

"Any time." He slants his head a little closer. "Is that Slayer?"

"Yeah," Frank yawns as he tugs out the remaining earbud, turning off his iPod and setting it on the floor. "I drank coffee like an idiot and now I can't sleep, so me and Edward Norton are having a Slayer party."

Gerard nods. "Seems legit."

Frank turns his head to the side and they sit there in silence, which is just ironic enough to be funny. They haven't spoken in almost two weeks and already have nothing else to say to each other.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

Gerard rolls his eyes.

"Oh…yeah. Well. Just don't say I never did you any favors." Frank smiles and adds with a laugh, "You're really good at not talking to me, by the way."

"I say a lot of stupid shit when I'm angry," Gerard explains as he zones out, working something out in his head. When he seems to figure it out, he brings his attention back to Frank and admits in a quiet voice, "I didn't want to say anything that would make you leave."

His tone wrenches at Frank's chest and suddenly it doesn't feel like they're a pair of thirty-somethings with ten years of touring under their belts. The frown Gerard is wearing looks exactly the way it did before 'Revenge' dropped, that same anxious uncertainty written all over his face. He hasn't looked that raw in a long time and the sense of nostalgia that washes over makes Frank feel tired and warm.

"Like I would ever leave," he says honestly, studying Gerard's silhouette as the glow from the television creates oscillating shadows on his face. The sentiment goes without saying, of course. Even with things being as miserable as they had been lately, the option of quitting never crossed his mind. Not even once.

He isn't sure how long they sit there, but at some point Gerard leans forward and kisses him. It's nothing serious – the times they've made out on stage have been more involved than this – but it still leaves Frank winded when he ultimately pulls away to ask, "What are you doing?"

"I'm not really sure," Gerard admits after some thought, sounding puzzled with himself.

Frank reaches out to tousle Gerard’s practically audible hair. "You're weird."

"You have met me, right?"

"A couple of times. Remember when you elbowed me in the ribs the first time we met? You told me you liked my shirt and that I had shitty jokes, then you gave me your phone number.”

"Your jokes _were_ shitty,” Gerard points out slyly. “It was a cool shirt, though. You were wearing that Tank Girl one, right?"

"Yup. And when you found out I was drinking underage, you stole my beer."

Gerard's face crinkles with laughter. "You drink shitty beer, too.”

They're staring again and the air in the room feels static. Frank checks to make sure that the door is closed and sits up, sliding off the couch into Gerard's lap. Settling into a comfortable position, he makes sure to note out loud, "So, this is a really stupid idea."

Gerard grins. "Sounds familiar."

"Some asshole told me that a few years ago before I went down on him. He was in some crappy band from Jersey. You kinda look like him."

"You know, it's so weird that you say that, because you totally remind me of this dude I hooked up with one time. Total squealer."

"Whatever, you fucking liar!" Frank loudly protests, catching himself and lowering his voice. "You are so full of shit."

"Funny, that's not how I remember it." Gerard curls two of his fingers in a crude come hither motion and smirks at the appalled look he gets in response.

Instead of wasting time with a proper comeback, Frank closes the gap and shuts him up before he can say anything else. Gerard reacts tautly at first but relaxes after some persuading, resting his hands on Frank's hips and rubbing them encouragingly. Their jaws go slack at the same time and Gerard swirls his tongue around in languid circles, gripping at the nape of Frank's neck and pressing closer.

They break and Gerard guides him onto the floor, Frank to yanking him down by the front of his shirt. Gerard sinks easily on top, arms bent at the elbows as they lay there making out for a while. The smooth slide of their lips push all of Frank's buttons and he reaches under the hem of Gerard's shirt, hands remembering the contours as he grazes them down his back.

Gerard gasps to a stop. Frank slithers his fingertips just under the waistband of his band mate's underwear to scrape a callused finger against his naked hip, feeling the shudder that drifts down Gerard's spine as he sits up to straddle Frank's legs and take off his belt. Frank wets his lips and follows Gerard's fingers as he rakes them up his thighs, moving further and further until he's palming himself. He rocks into his grip and lifts his shirt just high enough for Frank to see his stomach, trailing a free hand across and back down the crease of his leg. 

After several minutes Gerard nudges at Frank's shirt until he takes it off, falling back on top to worry a few spots around his neck. Frank eagerly bucks his hips and Gerard grinds into him, arms splayed on either side of them for balance. Soon Frank is matching his thrusts and fisting Gerard's hair, his other hand creeping down between them to unzip his pants. Once he unsnaps the top button, he hooks a thumb on the waistband so that it snags just under the elastic of Gerard's underwear, pushing both down until more of him is exposed.

Gerard takes over from there and shucks out of them, kicking them off until Frank can feel the heat resonating from his skin. He's so turned on that he's shaking all over, teeth gnashing in restraint as Gerard shifts higher until his knees hit just under the other’s arms, gripping himself and smearing precome on Frank’s face. Frank groans and lifts his shoulders, craning his neck to start blowing him right there on the floor. The angle is for shit and his neck will be paying for it tomorrow, but when Gerard cradles the back of his head and fucks his mouth, you couldn't pay Frank to care. After he lets his hands do some wandering Frank hums, hollowing out his cheeks.

"Mm," Gerard whines, hips jerking erratically when he tenses and quietly gasps. He's getting close and Frank almost loses it, having to dig deep and stop himself. He takes Gerard a little deeper, relaxing his jaw so that his lips widen around him. He swallows and flattens his tongue, drawing out another low sound in Gerard's throat before he shudders and suddenly pulls out.

Without even stopping to catch his breath, he moves until he's between Frank’s legs to tear off his pants. Mutually, Frank thinks Gerard's shirt has stayed on long enough and enthusiastically pushes at it until Gerard lifts his arms. Gerard stoops down to kiss him again and Frank shivers as sweat begins cooling on his skin. He grunts and rolls them over to climb on top, sucking on Gerard's tongue and swaying his hips, building friction that has both of them struggling to keep their voices down.

Then Gerard completely kills it by laughing, "Probably a bad time to mention that all my condoms are in the bunk."

"Son of a bitch," Frank gripes, immediately rolling off to lay on his back beside him. He sighs loudly. "I guess you'll just have to pull out."

"That's not how this works, asshole."

"I can't get pregnant right now, Gerard. If you knock me up, my parents will ground me for, like, ever."

Gerard sits up with a scoff and grabs his pants, getting to his feet so he can turn them rightside out. Frank blatantly stares until Gerard takes notice and grins. "What?"

"Nothing," Frank replies, pushing off the floor onto the couch. "You look good."

"Shut up," Gerard says dismissively, toeing into his jeans and hauling them up his legs. Frank fails to hide his amusement at Gerard gingerly trying to zip them back up and both of them snicker like prepubescent idiots. "Fuck you, there's no sexy way for me to do this."

"I just can't believe you're gonna take your pants off twice."

"Meheblurrblehh," Gerard mocks as he plucks his shirt from the floor and tugs it over his head. Fully dressed, he shoots Frank another grin and bends down to kiss him. Frank knows it's meant to be chaste but licks at his lips, anyway, and Gerard doesn't seem to mind the change of plan when he huffs approvingly and leans into it. Things quickly escalate into something more aggressive and right when Frank is getting into it Gerard disconnects with a loud breath.

"Shit," he rasps, grabbing Frank on either side of his face and kissing him again. "Okay." He plants one more and finally makes a move toward the door. "Be right back," he says, carefully opening it and disappearing out of the room. Frank shakes his head, rubbing his face and sinking a little further into the couch.

Gerard reappears with a condom wrapper tucked between his fingers and closes the door without making a sound. He makes fast work of his shirt and takes it off first, adding it once more to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He then walks over to stand directly in front of Frank and tosses the condom at him, eyes darkening when he slowly unbuttons his jeans mere inches away from Frank's face. And, okay, so maybe Frank is ready to eat his initial complaints about Gerard taking his pants off twice.

"Who's the glove for?" he asks, holding it up and having a serious fight with his eyeballs to keep from getting too distracted.

"It's for you," Gerard reveals mischievously while he slips out of his pants. "Unless you have any objections, or whatever."

"I guess I don't really have a choice since I allegedly have a _noise issue._ "

"Stop pretending you're offended. I'm not exactly Charlie Chaplin, either."

"That I do remember." Frank grabs him by the back of the neck and drags his face down. Gerard eases into his lap, knees on either side of his hips and a shallow grip on his face. They kiss hot and slow, fingers never staying in the same place for longer than a few seconds while they move against one another.

"Can I blow you?" Gerard asks breathily.

Frank bites hard into his shoulder, resolve failing just thinking about it. “I’m not gonna make it if you do.”

“You should get laid more.”

“Were you this smug last time?”

“Yeah, you just didn’t notice because you were all – ” Gerard scrunches his face and fakes an orgasm. Frank laughs through his nose and elbows Gerard off his lap to put on the condom. He tears it open and carefully rolls it down, having to stop halfway because his fingers get too slippery to function. Gerard snorts beside him and both of them are snickering all over again.

"You and I need to have a grown up discussion about why none of this is funny," Frank suggests, finally accomplishing his task. "And I'm not even going to ask why your condoms are lubricated."

"Good idea," Gerard provides as an answer for both, straddling his legs once more.

Their breath comes out in short bursts as Gerard sinks down slowly, both of them letting out a long sigh when he stops. He starts moving, gripping Frank by the shoulders, rising and falling unevenly until he finds a steady rhythm. Frank can't stop gaping at the indecent faces he makes and crushes their lips together. Gerard kisses back deep and smutty, moaning softly and touching his face. Frank synchronizes with matching counterthrusts, seeing Gerard's eyes flutter and roll back into his head as he reaches down between them to pump into his own hand.

"Shit," Frank breathes, not sure how much longer he can last. He emits a long groan, knuckles whitening as he looks down. “Do you ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“The first time we fucked.”

Gerard smiles slightly and murmurs, “Sometimes.”

Frank runs his hands up Gerard’s back and whispers, “Me, too.”

Gerard slows his pace, letting go of himself to brace both hands on the back of the sectional and asking heatedly, “Do you come?” The look on his face sends a hot wave of need down to Frank’s stomach and he roughly grabs at his hips. “Yeah?” Gerard goes on, face contorting as he suddenly mewls, "Ah…" He tenses, moaning a little louder, " _Ah..._ " Frank takes over where Gerard left off and grabs him, timing his hand with their movements. Gerard arches into his grip, slipping his tongue between Frank’s lips as he comes hard between them, shaking as Frank kisses back and works him through the aftershock.

Once he's caught his breath, Gerard lifts off completely and Frank is ready to punch him in the face. The impulse to do so immediately disappears, however, when he's taken all the way back in with Gerard facing the opposite direction. Frank inhales and Gerard moves, rising and falling like before but with an added back and forth grind of his hips. His motions are deliberate, traveling through each vertebra down to his pelvis and back up again in a continuous wave and it doesn't take very long for Frank's stomach to tighten. Gerard turns his head to the side so that they're eye-to-eye, kissing him open-mouthed.

That's all it takes for Frank to finally peak - he moans into Gerard's mouth and comes, shaking for several minutes after the fact. Gerard stops moving and falls back against him, resting his head against Frank's as they sit there listening to each other breathe. Gerard kisses him again, Frank wrapping his arms a little tighter around his waist.

They get dressed in an easy silence and Frank ventures out to dispose of the condom. Trent pays him no mind when he goes into the tiny bathroom and wraps it in toilet paper to be more prudent, tossing it into the small trashcan. He knows better than to try and flush them on a tour bus; he's heard far too many horror stories over the years.

He heads in the direction of his bunk but gets dragged back into the lounge by the arm, Gerard's mouth already on him before he can say anything. Frank laughs into it and kisses back, feeling a hand run down the front of his chest before settling at the small of his back. He parts their lips and draws out a small noise, bringing them both closer. They stay like this for a little while before Gerard slows to a stop, cheeks still flushed from earlier. "Night."

"Uh, yeah," Frank musters with an awkward laugh. He steps aside, receiving one last glance from the redhead on the way out. Frank sighs and takes some time to gather his thoughts as he shuts off the TV.

It takes him mere seconds to fall asleep in his bunk.

 

***

 

The following afternoon in Philly there is a new playlist on Frank's iPod called "Post Coital Dance Mix." He spends most of his lunch-by-microwave listening to it, having to steal another packet of Gerard's Ramen because he's out of food again.

He sends Gerard a text message from his bunk as soon as he wakes up and doesn't even have time to roll out of bed before he gets the response: _All my Ramen are belong to your facehole._ Frank knows there's a dick joke hiding in there somewhere, but he's too sleepy to think of one, so instead he forwards a picture of a party hat and finally throws back his blanket.

He finds Alicia and Gerard smoking out back when he hauls himself out of the bus toward the venue. Frank announces his presence with a loud belch as soon as he walks up and nods his head toward Gerard's cigarette. "You gonna finish that?"

Gerard makes a face. "Your brain has an air leak."

"Liquidation sale," Frank corrects him, grabbing his wrist so he can steal the cigarette. Gerard swats at him and holds it out of his reach.

"Here," Alicia steps in, holding out her pack.

"You give me the homosexuals," Frank gushes, taking one and hugging her hello. He meets Gerard's amused expression over her shoulder and Gerard sneakily reveals a teeth-shaped bruise on his collarbone. Frank provides a bite motion in response as he pulls out of the hug and smiles toothily at Alicia. "How long can we keep you?"

She smiles big in return and croons, "Until the eighth, my sweet." Her eyes narrow when Gerard cups a hand around the flame of his Bic so Frank can light up. "My brother's watching our fur children for us."

Gerard's ringtone goes off and he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He glances at the screen and drops his cigarette, stepping on the cherry and saying, "I gotta take this, I'll see you guys inside."

It's only after he raises it to his ear and walks away that a particularly jarring thought suddenly occurs to Frank. Something heavy sits sour and turns his stomach, twisting his insides so hard that he feels physically ill. Images from yesterday flash across his mind in a hazy collection of snapshots: Lindsey asking him to step outside, Lindsey crying, the two of them agreeing to start from scratch, Lindsey giving him a shy hug before they go back inside, Gerard moaning into his mouth while Frank fucks him in the back of the bus.

Lindsey.

Were Gerard and Lindsey even technically together? Frank combs through past conversations in search of some verbal indication and comes up short (in his own defense, though, there isn't much recent material beyond two weeks ago). Did they ever make things official or are they still just dating? Fuck, are they even officially dating? Is their...whatever...just a casual thing or is it more exclusive?

"Frank?" Alicia asks, a concerned frown cutting through her features. "You okay? You're look kinda pale."

He slowly turns to her in panic. "I have to tell you something."

She puts a hand on his arm. "Who do I have to kill?"

"We fucked."

"Fucked who?"

"Me and Gerard. We fucked."

Alicia rolls her eyes. "You already told me that one."

"No, like, we fucked again. On the bus last night." She still seems uncertain and he heaves a sigh, wondering if he needs to get a chalkboard and draw a picture. "Alicia, this seriously isn't that hard. See this?" He pulls his shirt collar aside to show her the fingerprinted bruises that are currently yellowing along his shoulder. "I'm a fucking cheetah under here. Do we need to have the birds and the bees talk?"

Finally, Alicia seems to catch on and looks torn between peeing herself and shouting at him. She chooses shouting. "Seriously?!" she bellows, tugging his shirt aside for another peek and backing away from him with her hands clasped over her mouth. "Dude. Has he said anything to Lindsey?"

"No idea," Frank mumbles restlessly around a thumbnail. "We haven't talked about it."

"Holy shit," she says, pausing for a moment. "So was it good or...?"

He stares at her. " _What?_ " He motions incredulously and asks, "Is that really pertinent information right now?"

"What if I let you ask me something about my sex life in exchange?"

"No! Wait…maybe. What are my conditions?"

"No conditions," she says grandly, outstretching her arms like she's offering him the world. "Anything you've ever wanted to know about my sex life."

"Anything?" He puckers his mouth off to the side, debating. "Deal, but I get to ask my question first."

"Yes!" she declares, clapping her hands excitedly. "Fire when ready, capitán."

Frank extracts cigarettes from one of his pockets and lights one. "Alright," he says, "Best sex you've ever had."

"Pfft, easy," she scoffs, "The night Mikey proposed. He went down on me next to a cop car and popped the question when he was done."

"Wow," Frank says in awe, "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"Isn't it?" Alicia agrees fondly, going a little starry-eyed. "Sooooo...?"

"I shouldn't really have to tell you. You saw my chest wounds."

“We had an agreement, you jerk. Details or I punch you in the neck.”

Frank makes a face and leans away slightly. “Your level of interest with your brother-in-law’s sex life is deeply confusing.”

Alicia rolls her eyes again and stresses, “Just answer the damn question.”

“You really wanna know?”

“ _Yes._ Jesus Christ, I hate you so hard right now.”

"Fine,” Frank says, feeling a little smug when he admits all at once, “It was really hot and super awesome and now I feel very uncomfortable. Happy?"

"It's at least nice to see you guys talking again," she notes, tilting her head and smiling at him. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

"My specialty," he resigns as he checks his watch. "I should get inside, though. We've got soundcheck in ten minutes."

"You go ahead, I need to call my broski and make sure my kids are behaving."

 

***

 

There is a lone double bed waiting for Frank and Gerard when they arrive exhausted and damp at their hotel room later that night. They both see it at the same time and drop their bags on the floor right in front of it, glancing at each other and then back to the bed. Gerard speaks first.

"I call little spoon."

"Like hell you do," Frank argues, "You and your stupid dancer legs can be the big spoon."

"Word." Gerard picks one side of the bed and sits down. "You wanna shower first?"

Frank shrugs and files through his bag for a change of clothes. "Works for me."

They waste no time climbing under the covers once they've both had time to clean up, comfortably silent as they get ready for bed. Frank has already hit the sheets when Gerard finishes brushing his teeth and shuts off the light on his side of the bed. The room plunges into darkness and he closes his eyes, feeling Gerard curl up from behind and drape an arm around him.

"Should we talk about last night?" Gerard tiredly asks the back of Frank's neck.

"Nah," Frank yawns. "We should probably talk about Lindsey, though."

"What about her?"

"I think she deserves to know."

"I figure that's something I should say in person."

"Yeah," Frank says. "That's really all I wanted to say. I kind of freaked out when it first hit me."

"I did, too. I'll feel better once I talk to her."

The conversation lulls after that, each lost in his own thoughts as they lay there in the dark. There is the distinct drumming of footfalls out in the hallway and the sound of a door shutting with a lot more clatter than there needs to be at 4 a.m.

"Are we shitty people?" Frank asks after a few minutes.

Gerard doesn't answer right away, to the point where Frank begins to suspect that he's fallen asleep. Finally, though, he replies with an honest, "I don't know."

Fair enough, Frank thinks, but he makes no move to scoot away. He turns on the mattress so that he and Gerard are facing one another. "I guess this is just one of those things," he says, adjusting his head on a pillow. He feels Gerard's breath on his face when he laughs slightly.

"Probably," Gerard muses, sliding a hand along Frank's neck and dipping under his shirt collar to massage the ligaments at the base of his skull. It's surprisingly effective on his sore muscles and Frank melts into the contact, goosebumps springing up along his arms. Gerard then shifts forward and closes the gap.

They kiss with no sense of urgency. Frank has the scent of Gerard's skin all over him and it won't go away, driving him closer and making his head spin just from the smell of it. They wrap their arms around each other and Gerard licks a wet line up Frank's jaw, nibbling his way over to drop his tongue between their lips. Frank moans and cups his face, instinctually rocking against him when he feels Gerard hardening against his leg. There's nothing desperate or needy to any of it and Frank can't remember the last time he's been kissed like this.

"Gee," he whispers, pushing him back a little. "Look, you're really hot and I'm sure my dick would love a repeat, but I barely had the energy to take a shower."

He can just scarcely make out the smile Gerard is giving him. "You think I'm hot?"

"I've always thought you were hot."

Gerard laughs. "Thank you?"

"So can I officially extend a rain check or should I feel awkward and self-conscious, now?"

"I don't normally accept IOU's but I guess I can make an exception. I mean, you're pretty good looking."

"So what you're saying is...you think I'm hot."

"Well yeah," Gerard teases, "You know, in that 'double bagger' sorta way." He untangles himself from Frank to roll over and face away from him. "Good night."

Frank scoots closer and wraps an arm around his stomach. "You fail at being the big spoon."

The older man yawns obnoxiously and hooks a foot over Frank's ankle. "You're the one who rolled over, I'd say I'm winning at being the little spoon."

He's got him there, so Frank just closes his eyes, wiggling a little closer for warmth.

Gerard makes for a rad little spoon.

 

***

 

It's their first night in Sayreville the next evening and Frank is watching the Architects' opening set in a corner, tucked behind a small throng of people backstage. He nods his head to the beat and sips on a beer that is quickly getting too warm, but he keeps drinking, anyway. He downs it until he hits foam and tosses the bottle in a nearby trashcan, tucking his hands into his jean pockets and trying not to focus on the debilitating anxiety that has been worming into his mind for the last twenty four hours. His brain has been bombarding him with a thousand different scenarios of what is going to happen once Lindsey finds out and none of them end in his favor. Even Gerard has been pretty quiet most of the day, keeping mostly to himself whenever the rest of the crew is around.

Despite the odd vibe in the presence of others, their antics when they're alone have been a welcome distraction. They had spent their smoke breaks sneakily making out while simultaneously locked in a fierce competition over who can better get on the other one's nerves. It all started with Gerard trying to stick his finger into Frank's mouth every time he yawned, which ended in Frank slapping Gerard's coffee out of his hand. The pattern continued and eventually escalated to shooting rubber bands at each other with finger guns.

Frank laughs to nobody as the Architects begin playing another song, congratulating himself on his impeccable finger gun aim. Not to brag, but he's got it down to a fine science, managing to pop Gerard on the ass multiple times throughout the day. Despite his mad skills, however, karma had eventually caught up to him when Gerard nailed him once right in the balls, cackling maniacally as Frank doubled over in anguish.

As if by psychic ninja magic, the redhead suddenly appears beside him and gives him a nod. Frank jokingly gives him the stink eye, the pair trading various looks of contempt back and forth until they both snicker and bring their attention back to the show.

“These guys are so fucking sweet,” Gerard says right next to his ear, shouting to be heard over the music.

“I really like their set up,” Frank yells back, not taking his eyes off the stage as a thought suddenly occurs to him. He cranes his neck to survey the area, checking for any people within a radius of several feet but finding nobody. There is a waist-high stack of assorted amps to their left and a black painted wall to their right. Frank can feel the evil smile forming on his face.

What a perfect opportunity for revenge.

Seizing his moment, Frank shoots a dangerous expression at Gerard and sidesteps so that he is standing slightly in front of him. He waits patiently for the next song to begin and while the small group in front of them starts moving with the music again, then takes another step so that he’s inches from Gerard’s chest. Not giving him time to react, Frank hastily licks his hand and snakes it behind his back, slipping it down between them to press his fingers against Gerard’s zipper. He feels lips lightly brush against the back of his neck, grazing so quickly that it could easily be missed by any potential onlookers. A helping hand assists Frank in snapping open the button and Gerard takes a risky dip into Frank’s waistband to ghost along the pubic bone. Frank bites back the crude noise bubbling in his throat and slips a hand into Gerard’s pants, finding no underwear. Frank can feel himself hardening and is thankful for the slightly oversized shirt he had picked out that morning after they slayed most of the hotel furniture. He wraps his hand around Gerard’s length and coils his wrist up and down, stopping occasionally to thumb the slit.

Frank's other arm is abruptly folded behind his back, Gerard discreetly rocking into his palm. Frank turns his head and meets Gerard's eerily vacant expression, betrayed only by the feral gleam in his eyes. Frank taunts further by gnawing on his lip and staring at Gerard’s mouth, feeling him leak into his fingers and spreading his precome until he’s slick and sliding easily into them. Gerard leans down like he’s saying something and breathes hard against his ear, driving into him a few more times before he spills into Frank’s grip. Frank does his best not to create a bigger mess as he removes his hand, though he does make sure that Gerard can see him suck on a few fingers to clean them off.

He stays in front of him a little longer to give Gerard enough time to button and zip back up, stepping aside only when he feels a gentle nudge at his ribs. Frank checks for witnesses as casually as possible and once again finds none. Frank revels in how easy they got away with it and tries to ignore the dull ache he feels between his legs, knowing he’ll need to take care of that soon. Not exactly the way he wanted to spend ninety minutes on stage in room full of strangers and most of his friends.

"I'm gonna go change," Gerard yells to him over the feedback of another song ending. He raises his eyebrows slyly and walks off in the direction of the exit. Recognizing the open invitation, Frank takes off to follow him, having to adjust the gait of his walk to keep from drawing too much attention as he falls in line beside Gerard.

They hurry off to the bus and find it empty. Gerard blows him for all of two minutes before Frank loudly comes in his mouth, then spends the rest of the night texting Frank thirty-second YouTube clips and claiming each of them lasted longer than Frank did during blow jobs. Frank finally won the war when he sent back a ten-second video of a cat falling off the couch, making sure to remind him that it lasted longer than Gerard did during hand jobs and nailing him right in the nuts with a rubber band from across the room, much to the chagrin of their band mates.

 

***

 

Their new routine continues through D.C. and Atlanta, having to pause for their journey overseas because it's too risky to try anything with Ray, Mikey, Pedicone and Dewees around all the time. Gerard is strangely quiet throughout the majority of their trip and wears Lindsey's sniper jacket during the show, staying as far away from Frank as possible both on and off stage. Frank tries not to linger on the implications of such hot and cold behavior and makes the executive decision to back off.

"Lindsey's gonna meet us on Tuesday," Gerard tells him solemnly during a smoke break at the airport.

Frank doesn't say anything and lightly kicks Gerard's leg with the toe of his Converse. He hopes the gesture comes across reassuring.

 

***

 

It's abundantly awkward when Lindsey greets Frank with a warm smile and a big hug in Florida. He and Gerard barely talk to each other but it's mostly from nerves on both sides. Frank can't really speak for Gerard, but having Lindsey here makes him feel like everybody knows and he can't bring himself to look people in eye for very long. He bides his time playing Xbox with Mikey and Ray, the three of them taking turns since there are only two controllers. It's not as distracting as Frank wants it to be. 

Every once in awhile he peeks over his shoulder at Lindsey and Gerard as they act sweet and domesticated in the corner, wondering when they're going to talk about it. He sees Lindsey laugh and cuddle up next to Gerard for a kiss, the pair pecking on the lips a few times. Frank frowns and chokes down what tastes suspiciously like vomit.

"Dude."

Frank jumps and turns his head. Mikey and Ray are staring at him.

"What?"

Mikey holds out his controller. "You're up, broheim."

"Oh. Uh." Frank moves to grab it, then changes his mind and stands up. "Maybe later, man, I'm feeling kinda shitty all of sudden. I think I'm gonna go lay down for a few minutes." He ignores the odd looks they give him and quickly ducks out of the room with his fingers wrapped around the Marlboros in his pocket.

He stays outside for a long time and diminishes his pack until he's left with only four cigarettes to get him through the rest of the day. He rubs his face and smokes his sixth cigarette in a row, lungs protesting with a dull ache that'll probably end in bronchitis at some point. He thinks back to when he was still living with Mikey, recalling the time Mikey rectified a shitty day at work by wrapping empty bottles of vodka in grocery bags so they could break them on the back porch. Frank remembers the gratifying POP that his bottle made upon first impact with his hammer and the crunchy sound of broken glass as he beat the living shit out of it, reducing it to a fine powder.

What he wouldn't give for a hammer and some glass right now.

Frank is severed from his thoughts when the back door flies open and slams against the wall. He starts at the noise and whirls around to welcome the sight of Lindsey storming up to him. He already knows where this is going and tosses his cigarette.

"Lindsey - " he attempts but is interrupted when she shoves him back several steps.

"Why?" she demands to know with her face warped into a scowl. She shoves him a few more times while shouting, "Why? "

"I don't know," he says carefully, trying to stay diplomatic. This answer doesn't appear to be good enough.

"You have to be the fakest piece of shit I've ever met," she spits out venomously, shaking her head at him in disgust. "To think I actually let you convince me that I was a shitty person. How the fuck do you sleep at night?"

He holds his hands up. "I didn't plan for this to happen, okay? It just did, and -"

Lindsey thrashes around angrily and cuts him off, "Oh, fuck off! The FIRST time 'just happened.' Fucking him every single day for over a week after making me feel like shit for a mistake I made THREE YEARS AGO is just you having a piss poor grasp on common fucking courtesy." She pauses and folds her arms across her chest. "So tell me, when was the first time?"

He looks away.

"When was the first time?" she asks again, cocking her head when he doesn't reply fast enough. "What, are you a deaf-mute, now? "

"Boston," he says dejectedly, "After the show."

"Wow, so on the very same day that we had our talk, huh?" Lindsey purses her lips at him and nods. "That's nice. Do me a favor and try not to swallow each other while you're fucking behind my back." She spins and walks away, then turns to face him again. "Oh, and one more thing," she adds, backing away slowly. "Tell Gerard he can keep the jacket. I don't want it anymore."

He watches her until she disappears around the building. As soon as she's gone, he swears loudly at the top of his lungs and kicks over a trash can. Plopping down on the ground with his knees to his chest and his back to the wall, Frank fires up another cigarette, smoking in a fuming silence.

He's not pissed at Lindsey - he really isn't, she has every right to be angry - but he can't help but agree with her, so he's more just mad at the world. Mad because he can't keep his dick in his pants, mad because he shit-canned somebody else's relationship and mad because he's fucking his best friend.

Frank doesn't notice anyone sit next to him until he hears the flick of a lighter. He glances over but chooses to stay quiet, too pissed off to talk, anyway.

"Great weather we're having," Gerard remarks casually, attempting to lighten the mood.

Frank manages a bitter snort. "You're an idiot."

"I know." He lays his head on Frank's shoulder and poses, "How bad was it?"

"My asshole is bleeding but it could've been worse." He rests his head against Gerard's. "She said you could keep the jacket, though."

"Sweet." Gerard takes a few drags. "Wanna do it later?"

Frank turns to look at him. "It's a little soon, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just got dumped like two seconds ago."

"So?" Gerard lifts his head. "I get why she's mad, but we weren't technically together. It is what it is."

"It's still okay to be upset about it, though." Frank stares pointedly to try to scope him out.

Gerard only smiles. "No worries."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Frank warns as he knocks their knees together. "You know I'm not expecting anything, right?"

"I know," Gerard assures him, "I'm not, either. Like I said, it is what it is."

"Cool."

There isn't much else to say about it so the two of them finish smoking and go back inside. They don't have sex that night, but when they fall asleep in the middle of 'The Toxic Avenger' Gerard totally redeems his position as the big spoon.

 

***

 

Frank and Texas have never gotten along. The heat that welcomes him every time he's here is rivaled only by the surface of the sun, and the one instrument that he named 'Texas' broke so often during its lifetime that he finally had to admit defeat and give it an honorable death. Which really fucking sucked, because that guitar was nine kinds of kick ass on the days that it actually worked. 

When he gets back from interviews and finds his ex-fiancée loitering backstage, he adds another notch to the 'I Hate Texas' tally he's been keeping all these years. And, okay, her being there isn't really such a bad thing, it's just awkward because he can't remember the last time he even talked to Jamia, much less the last time he saw her in person.

"Hey!" she exclaims when he walks into the room, throwing her arms around his neck and catching him completely off guard.

"Shit - hey." He hugs her back and rolls his eyes to nobody, because seriously? Fuck his entire life. "It's been forever."

"I know!" She pulls away and smiles at him. "Sorry I didn't tell you, I wanted it to be a surprise."

He waves her off. "You don't have to apologize." He hears the rest of the guys file into the room and announces, "Hey fuckwads, look who I just found."

"No way!" Ray declares as soon as he sees her, running over to hug her and almost knocking over a table in the process. "Oh my God, you guys, can we keep her? She can live with me and Christa in our closet and we'll feed her crushed Doritos under the door."

"Hey, stranger," Mikey addresses as he hugs Jamia next. "What the hell are you doing in Dallas?"

"My best friend is getting married on Wednesday," she tells him. "Her brother works for House of Blues and he told me you guys were gonna be in town, so I convinced him to put me on the guest list. Hey, Gee."

Gerard smiles (uneasily, Frank notices) and greets her with a light embrace. "Jay. How are you?"

"Doing good." They all stand there for a second. "Man it's good to see you guys. I should've done this sooner."

"You really should've," Ray agrees. "You gonna stay for the show?"

Jamia shrugs. "I'd like to, yeah, but I don't want to get in the way. I just figured I'd at least come say hi."

"You won't be," Mikey insists. "Stay. We have another show tomorrow and were thinking about going out later tonight. You should come with."

"I guess that's cool," she concludes with a grin. "As long as it's not too much trouble."

Ray pumps his fist into the air and starts chattering away about Christa's dad finding an original DOD 240 Resistance Mixer from 1981 in pristine working condition. Gerard and Frank exchange looks across the room and don't sit next to each other.

It's gonna be a weird night.

 

***

 

They hit up a small bar about five minutes up the street from their hotel once everyone is showered and changed. Frank is drunk within thirty minutes.

He doesn't mean to be drunk, at least not really, but sitting next to Jamia directly across from Gerard is a little more than he cares to handle completely sober. No matter how cool he tries to play it, the anxiety won't go away and before long he's completely lost count of his beers, too embarrassed to go back and ask how many he’s had at this point.

Stumbling outside for a cigarette barely registers with Frank until he walks right into Jamia, who holds him up by the arms. "M'good," he laughs light-headedly, wobbling on his feet before she pulls him down onto a bench next to a designated smoking sign. He makes a confused face as he clumsily fumbles through his pockets and asks, "Gotta lighter?"

"Yup," she says, pulling it out and handing it to him. She watches him struggle with it a few times and takes it back to light it for him. "I'm thinking you're probably done for the night."

"Prob'ly," he mumbles. "So I have t'ask, are you seeing anyone?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "Why, you interested?"

"M'not saying m' _not_ interested," Frank clarifies, hoping it comes out as eloquent as it sounded in his head. "Just curious. S'been a while since've seen you."

"I'm not seeing anyone at the moment," Jamia says as she crosses her legs. "Just kind of doing my own thing right now."

"I feel you." He grins at her. "Sorry if've been a little standoffish. The last few weeks've been kinda..." He waves his hands. "I dunno, all over the place? And not in, like, a 'haha tour joke' kinda way, but in a 'did that really just happen' kinda of way, y'know?"

"You're fine, Frank, I totally get it," Jamia says sympathetically, stealing a drag from his cigarette and giving it back. "Things have been crazy for me, too. Being the Maid of Honor is gonna give me a stroke before it's all said and done. Between the engagement party, the bridal shower and the Bachelorette party, I'm ready to wring somebody's neck over a piece of wedding cake. That's not even counting the rehearsal dinner on Tuesday."

"Christ. I so don't envy you."

"If you did I'd have you committed," she giggles. "So how about you, girlfriend?" 

He shakes his head. "Nope."

"Damn it," she jokes, "I was really hoping you'd have one so I could spend the next two days comparing myself to her."

"That's hardly a fair comparison."

"How so?"

"She'd lose."

"Aww," Jamia blushes, pinching his cheek. "Still a charmer."

"Always," Frank surrenders, smiling at her around his cigarette. "M'really glad you came to visit." 

She smiles back, eyes glittering. "I'm really glad I came to visit, too."

Things go a little hazy after that. When Frank comes to, he's surprised to discover that at some point they started making out, and he can't figure out what happened to the rest of his cigarette. A part of him vaguely advises to pull away, but he's only human, damn it. He hasn't made out with a chick in God knows how long and it feels just as good as he remembers, all soft skin and long hair. She touches his leg and he groans.

"Easy," Jamia laughs as she pulls away. "We are in public, you know."

Frank is about to retort when he looks up just in time to see Gerard walk outside and light up. Gerard stops in his tracks as soon as he sees them cuddled up on the bench, eyes drifting down to Jamia's hand on Frank's knee. He frowns, not even bothering to finish his cigarette before he turns and takes off across the street.

"Gerard!" Frank shouts, jumping up from his place and the bench. He hears Jamia shouting behind him but tunes her out as he runs for him, stepping off the curb to dart across oncoming traffic. He doesn't see the car that almost hits him until he hears the high-pitched squeal of brakes and Jamia yanks him back just in time to save him.

"Are you out of you fucking mind?!" Jamia yells, hysterical. 

Frank still isn't listening, frenzied as he paces back and forth. "S'everyone and their FUCKING BROTHER OUT DRIVING RIGHT NOW?!"

"Frank, calm _down_ ," Jamia exclaims, frantically trying to grab his arms without much success.

"STOP!" He screams at her, ferociously jerking out of her grip. 

"FINE!" she shouts, throwing her lighter at him as hard as she can and walking away. "Fucking psycho!"

When the traffic dies down enough for Frank to cross the street he makes a strangled noise and bolts. By the time he gets to the other side Gerard is little more than a fading black figure several streets up. Frank attempts to chase him but his legs won't work properly and he mostly just staggers around like a moron.

"GERARD!" he bellows in one last desperate attempt, voice echoing off the buildings as Gerard grows smaller off in the distance. "Fuck," he wheezes with his head spinning from the exertion, which is about the same time that he hunches over and pukes all over the sidewalk. Nauseous, exhausted and drunk, Frank falls into a sitting position against a nearby establishment and stares up into the Dallas skyline with passive distaste.

Fuck this, he thinks. Fuck puking, fuck running, fuck traffic and fuck Texas. Fuck fucking everything.

Pulling out his phone, Frank strains to see the keys and tries to dial the first number that comes to mind. This turns out to be much harder than he'd originally thought it would be, especially when the numbers keep blurring together, but there are ten digits on the screen when he's finished so he counts it as a personal win. He hits 'CALL' and holds his phone up to his ear, listening as the other line rings once...twice...three times...four times...

Then, to Frank's sheer and utter disbelief, somebody actually picks up.

"Hello?" a gravelly voice answers, barely awake.

"Texas sucks."

"Frank?" Bob asks in a daze, bed sheets rustling against the phone. "It's fucking four in the morning. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"M'drunk," Frank offers simply, clutching his phone a little tighter.

Bob makes an irritated noise. "Dude, can you not just go find Toro or something? Not that I don't appreciate the phone call, but I'd much rather be sleeping right now."

Frank frowns. "I was kinda hoping you could tell me why'm sucha dumbass."

"We'll be here all night if I try to walk you through that list. Can you be more specific?"

"Well," Frank says, trying to choose his words carefully. "I've been...um. Alright, so, basically, I'mina friends-with-benefits situation."

Bob hums attentively. "Are you wanting to actually be with this person or is it just a sex thing?"

"Dunno," Frank admits, fiddling with one of his shoelaces. "S'prob'ly just a sex thing."

"Okay, so what's the problem?"

"Jamia came t'visit tonight. I got drunk - "

"Naturally."

" - then I kissed Jamia n'my...er, friend, saw it. I tried to talk to 'em 'bout it bu'they took off before I cou'say anything."

Bob is soundless as he thinks things over. "It sounds to me like you and this 'friend' need to break things off or just be with each other."

Frank's brow furrows. "You think?"

"Well, yeah," Bob goes on. "You can't tell me if it's just sex and they walked away when they saw you with somebody else. Those are both red flags. The two of you need to either stop being pussies and take that next step or stop hooking up altogether. It's pretty standard procedure."

"Makes sense." Frank considers his words a little further and smiles. "Thanks, man."

"You're welcome," Bob says wearily. "Good luck with Gerard."

He hangs up. Frank stares at his phone and laughs.

Fucking Bob.

 

***

 

Frank spends the next three hours wandering through the city to sober up, making it back to the hotel around seven in the morning. He has no idea how he's kept track of both his wallet and his phone after the night he's had but is eternally thankful when the lock to his room lights up green. He shuffles inside as quietly as possible and is disappointed when he sees that the covers aren't turned back on Gerard's bed. His stuff is still on the chair, so that's at least collateral to bring him back, but it doesn't make Frank feel any better. He throws himself across the bed on the other side without changing his clothes and closes his eyes.

 

***

 

He wakes up an hour later to the sound of the door shutting and sits up, regretting it instantly as his headache throbs in protest. Gerard halts his steps and stands in the doorway, the pair staring at each other for a long time. Gerard ultimately breaks the contact and walks over to set his room key on the table.

"Hey," Frank tries cautiously, watching him cross the room.

"Hey," Gerard replies, taking off his jacket and sitting on the edge of his bed. "We need to talk."

Taking off his boots and setting them next to the nightstand, Gerard laces his hands together and trains his eyes on the floor.

"I don't think we should fuck anymore," he begins, chewing his lip anxiously. “I think that if we don't stop now, we might fuck up the group dynamic and I really don't want to do that. It's been bad enough fighting with you over the last few weeks and I would much rather have you in my life as my friend than as somebody I can't stand to be around."

"I couldn't agree more," Frank says, relieved, trying to hold down the vomit.

Gerard's mouth twitches slightly. "For the record, it wasn't because I saw you with Jamia. It was because I realized where this was all going and I got scared. We've known each other for a long time, Frank. You're one of my best friends and I can't imagine sharing this job with anybody else. I never want to find out what this band is like without you."

Frank smiles and ducks his head. "I feel the same way."

"Good."

They sit there for a few minutes, dawn slowly beginning to peek in through the curtains. Neither moves or speaks, enjoying the dull, uncomplicated quiet that they used to know. For the first time in weeks, things actually feel normal.

"I'm sorry I fucked things up for you and Lindsey," Frank apologizes. "I should've just shut my mouth and been happy for you."

"Us fucking didn't ruin that," Gerard contends, twisting the ring on his middle finger. "It probably didn't help, but it definitely wasn't the cause. If I'm honest, what I had with her wasn't going to work in the long run, anyway, even if she was willing to look past the shit with you and me. I didn't trust her enough to put any labels on it and that's not fair. This whole thing could've been prevented if I had just listened to you."

"I could've gone about it a lot better, though," Frank admits sheepishly. "I was honestly just trying to look out for you."

"I know you were. Well, I know now." Gerard laughs and looks up at him. "You and Mikey...I should get you two an award for being the biggest cockblocks in history."

"We wouldn't have to cockblock you so much if you'd bring home a decent fucking date every once in awhile," Frank says with a snort. "Does it still count as cockblocking if I've been inside you?"

Gerard looks somewhat repulsed by the comment but smiles, eyes lighting up as he says excitedly, "Dude, so, I know this is the worst segue ever, but I totally found my copy of 'Seven Doors of Death' and brought it up. You down?"

Frank scoffs, scandalized. "I am always down for Lucio Fulci. That's like asking if I want more genitalia."

"A horrifying thought, but I respect your enthusiasm." Gerard pulls a portable movie player out of his luggage and plops onto his bed with his back against the headboard. "You're gonna have to sit over here, though. I tried to haggle the front desk for a DVD player but they weren't buying."

"Fascists," Frank rationalizes as he stands up and slings down beside him.

Gerard sets the player on the mattress between them, positioning it so that both of them can see the screen. He presses several buttons to skip the title menu and Frank turns off the light above the side table. The opening credits begin to play.

"Wanna cuddle?" Frank asks deviously after a few minutes, turning his head.

"Sure," Gerard says, smirking but not looking away from the screen. "I call little spoon."

 

 

THE END


End file.
